Wednesday, October 21, 2009
A Few Swoony Rose Scents
I simply want Take No Prisoners Rose at the moment. I want to reread Philippa Gregory's sensual and frightening Wideacre; I want rose petals in my bath; I want a cashmere sweater in the richest deep red. I am longing to sniff a couple of new ones - the Francis Kurkdjian Lumiere Noire PourFemme (you can read Helg's voluptuously-written review here- she's clearly smitten!), and DS&Durga for Anthropologie East MidEast (Kevin's more straightforward review is here).
I'm not sure what to wear next, but here are a few of my options. Most of these are decants, the full bottles being a little out of my price range, which is why I'm careful with dosage - something in my brain goes cha-ching! every time I spray. Not to mention that most of these are also Grande Dame Perfumes with corresponding sillage...
Amouage Lyric Woman - deep wine-y rose and dry, smoky, astringent incense. Piercingly beautiful, Leontyne Price singing Vissi d'Arte. Quite expensive, but in this case, price indicates quality.
Ormonde Jayne Ta'if - a rose of the desert, sweet and deep, dusted with pepper and saffron, standing barefoot under the stars.
Caron Parfum Sacre' - lemon-spice-pepper and rose, flowing into warm vanilla-woods and cool myrrh. This is the mother that tenderly kisses her sleeping children before becoming a lover again in the bed of her marriage.
Gres Cabaret - rose curled atop a down comforter before the fire, letting its smoke twine through her hair. Wonderful fragrance, ugly bottle, unbelievably great price. I think I said something about "toasted marshmallow" before, but it's not sweet - what I was getting at was that cushy, pillowy musk.
Juliet Has a Gun Citizen Queen - rose dolled up for the nightlife, in a violet bustier, fishnets and leather stilettos - and a killer-diller red lipstick. Very, very sexy.
That Slut Tocade is little too flirty and shallow for the current mood, L'Arte di Gucci a little too imperious. I'll take my roses rolling in passion today.
Come slowly, Eden
Lips unused to thee.
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars - alights,
And is lost in balms!
- Emily Dickenson