This is the perfume of love. Green souls fall in love in the shade of citrus trees. Your laughter exhales a song of yuzu zests and my kisses flutter, white, like petals of neroli – as they rest on your grapefruit lips. Red. The pulp of my fingers run along your jasmine neck, I drink the blue seas of your eyes and the smell of your smiles. There is a heat, a whiff of vanilla, of two bodies entwined in a shape of white musks. Hypnotic lotus and dilated pupils, there comes from my fingers like a moan of geranium, a desire to taste you like a sip of orange juice. Green. I waft towards you on the wings of your skin-of-clouds. “Words do not lie”. There is no end to me.
Made in France.
