floarea soarelui
“I poisoned your soil, until even the roots had rotted.”
the smell of beauty before you know it is poison.
almond · peach · sunflower · datura · ash
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The summer you didn’t want to end was not a season. It was a person. august opens on bitter citrus and a thread of fig — light and irreversible — and settles into tobacco, beeswax, the kind of sweetness that makes you close your eyes. What remains is amber-gold and permanent. A sentence you cannot take back.
two more poems are being formulated.
the trilogy continues · sequentially financed · 500 bottles each“I poisoned your soil, until even the roots had rotted.”
the smell of beauty before you know it is poison.
“maybe you’ll come sooner — before I become a hedgehog.”
the smell of warmth that cannot bear to be touched.
three questions. one poem.
the fragrance that is already yours.