Your perfume maddens, enamors, excites,
you are the passion of a brothel, an angel dressed
of gold.
Your perfume is made from the heart,
you smell of sweat, of sex, of forbidden,
to alcohol and tobacco.
Your scent undresses multitudes,
he provokes orgies, writes poems,
composes symphonies.
Your perfume is virginal pleasure, it is
original sin, is an act
illicitly beautiful.
One of these days I won't be able to resist and
I'll eat you up, I'll bite you, I'll tear out every
inch of your skin, I want your
perfume on my tongue.
And when my crime is discovered and I am
blame for your death, I will not deny it,
I will tell you that my act was purely
born of love.
Well, your perfume got me addicted to you,
turned me into this hungry man
to your scent.
Your perfume is jasmine and tastes like coffee,
it's like air, I don't see it, but
I feel it between my fingers.
Your perfume is a palindrome, it is capicuous,
is so complex that even with all the
words could describe it.
Photography by Isa Gelb
I was born on March 24, 1989 on a Good Friday at noon. I am a crow.
I write by instinct, when I am thirsty, to be free.