august
“in august I held you, and felt my heart melt.”
the smell of the last warm evening you didn’t know was the last.
amber · tobacco · beeswax · immortelle
coming 2027 →
arici is the scent of standing still while the world pairs off around you, of searching for someone through a fog of quiet doubt: am I enough? can she even see me? It opens cold: nashi pear, clementine, the steam of tea, then closes around a cocoon of almond milk, shelled in old paper, chestnut, sandalwood, and a warm animalic musk beneath it all. It ends on the question that finally admits defeat: "is it my fault, or do you simply not exist?" and a warning underneath it: come now, while I’m still open, before the waiting grows me spines.
two more poems are being formulated.
the trilogy continues · 500 bottles each“in august I held you, and felt my heart melt.”
the smell of the last warm evening you didn’t know was the last.
“I poisoned your soil, until even the roots had rotted.”
the smell of beauty before you know it is poison.
three questions. one poem.
the fragrance that is already yours.