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Gold amber
Golden writing, practiced by saffron and resin, ingredients mentioned in the Leiden Papyrus, a gilded account of the most emblematic of deserts, the evocation is achieved with the wisdom of elemi, enriched with sumptuous sprinkled saffron buns, inlays of flowers orange and sensual immersions of amber and vanilla and a mischievous hand of musk in the rear. We pass from the fresh but dense breeze of the flowers in the incipit to a warm, but narrow, calmly sweet, balsamic and slightly musky result, translucent like a freshly melted ingot. Despite its softness, it induces meditation, it is not for frivolous and superficial minds, the atmosphere that draws with its alambico of odors displaces the classic conception of a bold and provocative "orientalizing" fragrance, in favor of an intimately intense and penetrating. The shouting dissipates and the enveloping magnetism of the distant ergs hypnotizes us.
It is almost May and the Khamsin blows dry rolling up sandstorms, but finally we relax in a magical splash, like a sinuous wave, camouflaged on the skin, drawing golden hieroglyphs. Sweet and slightly flowery with that latent juiciness that recalls its own fruit, the orange blossom opens up a carpet of petals on which the elemi dominates, the golden resin dances on a mute score, which only the soul can hear.
The desert heat from an enemy becomes a breath that caresses with sweet fingers of vanilla, also golden, purged of any edible yield, as mirages cloud the vision, the alchemical skill transmutes vanilla into amber that does not expand but sacrifices its density in favor of the dusty shading of the moss, expressed with elegance, giving up its easy indolic appeal. The transformation translates into a sensory experience of extreme refinement, in a continuous change of shape of the liquid that suggests continuous different emotions to our nose.
Like the Sahara, whose sand has flowed the same for centuries but never the same, fluidizes the notes into similar infinitesimal and different grains, with a tenacious persistence that does not fear the erosion of time. The finish is increasingly dry, recalling what a day leaves on the skin in the mysterious heart of the Sahara.
It is almost May and the Khamsin blows dry rolling up sandstorms, but finally we relax in a magical splash, like a sinuous wave, camouflaged on the skin, drawing golden hieroglyphs. Sweet and slightly flowery with that latent juiciness that recalls its own fruit, the orange blossom opens up a carpet of petals on which the elemi dominates, the golden resin dances on a mute score, which only the soul can hear.
The desert heat from an enemy becomes a breath that caresses with sweet fingers of vanilla, also golden, purged of any edible yield, as mirages cloud the vision, the alchemical skill transmutes vanilla into amber that does not expand but sacrifices its density in favor of the dusty shading of the moss, expressed with elegance, giving up its easy indolic appeal. The transformation translates into a sensory experience of extreme refinement, in a continuous change of shape of the liquid that suggests continuous different emotions to our nose.
Like the Sahara, whose sand has flowed the same for centuries but never the same, fluidizes the notes into similar infinitesimal and different grains, with a tenacious persistence that does not fear the erosion of time. The finish is increasingly dry, recalling what a day leaves on the skin in the mysterious heart of the Sahara.
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Smellike82
