Lalique Encre Noire

It smells of untainted desires—

musk, woods, and cypress.

It smells of impunity and transcending energies—

dust, dirt, and fire.

It smells of escapism and culpability—

timber, moss, and green.

It smells of a genderless soul upon its pyre—

coal and ashes, and yet so clean.

It is bloom time. Nature is repairing and restoring itself. She is dressed in a white linen robe that smells rock-beaten, her hair and skin redolent of vetiver. The creaking wooden floor beneath perfectly complements her pale, bare feet as she walks. The room holds a trapped, musty odour, and smoke from the fireplace wafts through it. Warm sunlight filters through the window panes, offering a serene start to the day. ❤️