Perfume Crisp as lemongrass, fresh as the scent of mown hay; nature’s own Chanel. Ozone scented sky charged by electricity and airborne spirits. Earthy loam and soil, the tangs of birth, life, and death, ashes to ashes. Share this: Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn Like Loading...
The Dark Side Of Flowers Smell the rot beneath the roses, steeped in mud around the bower. festoon the arbor all you’d like the stench remains through eyes’ delight. arranged bouquets stripped bare of thorns from loamy mulch, are petals born. Share this: Click to share on X (Opens in new window) X Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Click to share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window) LinkedIn Like Loading...