With every breath, the scent unfurled, a slow unraveling of desire. It was a grounded, sensual musk that promised permanence, not the fleeting flight of something floral. The patchouli deepened, growing warmer and more complex, like a fine wine mellowing with time. It was a fragrance that didn’t demand attention, but enveloped and held it, drawing one deeper into its intoxicating, amber-colored mystery.
Not everyone’s pallor can taste the subtly that is you. In this I am grateful. For if they were to flavor the hidden notes, there would be no chance for me. I would be pushed aside and made to long for another taste. An addiction I would gladly hold on too.
Rich… vivid… nice flow with this one… great job you two…
We thank you.
A very good prose piece, y’all. Solid throughout. I enjoyed reading it!
Thank you.
I enjoyed the wonderful and thought inspiring musings of you too very much! Great job!
Thank you Elke.
I grow a patchouli plant every year. It’s magical, like this piece. 🙂
Thank you, Jim.
Two poets whispering in Autumn: their leaves dancing in the scented air, colours bright, swirling in space, perhaps – who knows, lying softly on the same metallic glory?
‘The patchouli deepened, growing warmer and more complex, like a fine wine mellowing with time’
There’s little better than patchouli to lure lovers closer.. and closer.. and.. .. here I am inhaling – deeply, needing its magic allure! Space, am yours – take me! Smiling, happy
We thank you, emmagreen.