I just came in from the garden moor. There, I took a moon bath. I played badminton with some undead using citrus fruits. A special breed that only thrives during a full moon. Black fruits. Cousin Old Cabin kept sneaking in. I got him drunk on fruits soaked in strong schnapps. After that, he sank into the moor. My beloved and hot-blooded husband brought me my black and heavy velvet stole so I wouldn't feel so chilly in the coolness of the night. I cut black roses and, as always, neatly severed their heads. Gomez dragged me onto a gravestone that was covered with thousands - of course black - flowers. It was orgiastic. Watching were: 2 owls, 35 bats, 4 Dutchmen in a caravan, and the Hound of Baskerville. The icy little hand played the Symphonie fantastique Op.4 by Hector Berlioz on the piano. Dark, dreadful passion enveloped us. Night birds fainted from the trees. Oak moss entwined us like vines. Our pumas provided us with some secretions. In radiant moonlight, we rested in a sandalwood coffin. Cousin It waved us coolness with cedar branches. And now I am back, the moon has faded away.
A dark, very mysterious chypre. For adults only. Preferred for the vintages 1905 - 1967 and Morticia Addams.
Susa