Relic radiation

of the revolution's big bang.

A bottle of wine

in the pocket of a leather coat.
White flowers

and osmanthus-kissed skin.

Coffee, marzipan, cognac

and the dust of theatre backstage.

​

The punk, clad in defiance.
The girl who gave

powerful old men the finger.
Otherness that ripened

into strength.

​​

A new era is dawning.

It has the rawness of patchouli,

the elegance of ambrette.

The freshness of petitgrain,

the smoothness of neroli.

The present is different,

but it grew from the same dreams.

A noble magnolia has bloomed

in a bleak, moss-grown garden.

A night moth flies over the city.

It embraces the runaway fairy

with its suede wings.

​

The scent of the coat

builds layer by layer.
It maps places, people,

things and feelings.
The past joins hands

with the future in the place

we call now.

​

A new era.
A new coat.
The same moon.

​

Suede, amber, moss.
The same ideals.
The next dawn is only a day away.

​

​

​

"Far from the now-clichéd tropes of the niche market...""

 

"Then comes the evening, bodies entwined in carnal trails of coffee and tobacco with increasingly dark undertones, like the indelible ink of memory that settles on the skin, as it does in the mind."

 

Nez magazine, Paris

(#21, The Smell of the Future)