Top Notes 
Neroli
Bergamot
Citron
Cardamom absolute
Violet leaf
Pink pepper
Heart Notes 
Orange absolute
Egyptian jasmine absolute
Rose
Peach blossom
Tuberose absolute
Orchid
Base Notes 
White musk
Vanilla
Sandalwood
Virginia cedar
Palonera
467 Reviews
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Palonera
Top Review
35
Your days, Winter, are numbered.
Winter.
Gray, dreary, wet, cold winter.
One of the darkest of its time, far from warmth, even further from light.
Fog creeps into body, mind, and soul, paralyzing every smile, leaving my eyes staring.
Days, weeks, long already, far too long.
Longing, warmth longing, sun longing - a small dot in the deep dark gray, dark red, larger red, deep glowing red, pinhead- becoming pea-sized, cent-sized, euro-sized, even larger and still larger.
Wanderlust, sea longing, green longing.
Away from here, away from me, just for a moment, for two, three, don’t count.
A little glass tube, a bit of moisture, eyes closed, sprayed -
Light.
Bright, soft, wonderfully warm light, gold dark red behind the thick eyelids.
A breath of wind in winter hair, arms freed from fabric, the sun tickles bare legs.
Spring late, summer not far off, lush young grass hugs bare soles.
I stand still, eyes tightly closed, the cotton cloud sky above me and silky velvet blossoms in my nose.
A dab of violet in creamy white, glove-soft, caressing, for the duration of a smile, a butterfly's wingbeat.
Warmer now, deeper now, richer now, tuberoses bloom again and again on my skin, spinning me a cocoon like gossamer without heaviness and without stuffiness, without tangles, without snakes that choke the self and all.
Sun-warm, south-warm, skin-gold warm - no thought of this winter anymore, no thought of the cold gray that has no place, no space in my feeling, my smile, this scent.
Not in this moment.
I don’t know where they all are.
The orange blossoms and the bergamot, the spices, woods, all that more.
They may exist, they may have an effect, but not on me, on my pale skin.
Time and again I wanted to find them, to expand the picture, to complement here and there.
On some days a hint of neroli appears, on some evenings a flutter of jasmine.
But time and again the tuberose dominates, rules with tenderness and feather-light hand, stays close to me like a good friend, doesn’t impose and remains until it’s enough.
That can be in the evening and also the next morning, on some days in the late afternoon.
And always I carry the wet gray more lightly, the light appears a little brighter already.
Your days, Winter, are numbered.
PS: Favorite enabler - thank you!
Gray, dreary, wet, cold winter.
One of the darkest of its time, far from warmth, even further from light.
Fog creeps into body, mind, and soul, paralyzing every smile, leaving my eyes staring.
Days, weeks, long already, far too long.
Longing, warmth longing, sun longing - a small dot in the deep dark gray, dark red, larger red, deep glowing red, pinhead- becoming pea-sized, cent-sized, euro-sized, even larger and still larger.
Wanderlust, sea longing, green longing.
Away from here, away from me, just for a moment, for two, three, don’t count.
A little glass tube, a bit of moisture, eyes closed, sprayed -
Light.
Bright, soft, wonderfully warm light, gold dark red behind the thick eyelids.
A breath of wind in winter hair, arms freed from fabric, the sun tickles bare legs.
Spring late, summer not far off, lush young grass hugs bare soles.
I stand still, eyes tightly closed, the cotton cloud sky above me and silky velvet blossoms in my nose.
A dab of violet in creamy white, glove-soft, caressing, for the duration of a smile, a butterfly's wingbeat.
Warmer now, deeper now, richer now, tuberoses bloom again and again on my skin, spinning me a cocoon like gossamer without heaviness and without stuffiness, without tangles, without snakes that choke the self and all.
Sun-warm, south-warm, skin-gold warm - no thought of this winter anymore, no thought of the cold gray that has no place, no space in my feeling, my smile, this scent.
Not in this moment.
I don’t know where they all are.
The orange blossoms and the bergamot, the spices, woods, all that more.
They may exist, they may have an effect, but not on me, on my pale skin.
Time and again I wanted to find them, to expand the picture, to complement here and there.
On some days a hint of neroli appears, on some evenings a flutter of jasmine.
But time and again the tuberose dominates, rules with tenderness and feather-light hand, stays close to me like a good friend, doesn’t impose and remains until it’s enough.
That can be in the evening and also the next morning, on some days in the late afternoon.
And always I carry the wet gray more lightly, the light appears a little brighter already.
Your days, Winter, are numbered.
PS: Favorite enabler - thank you!
Updated on 02/01/2018
26 Comments
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