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. This is not a blue bottle derives its name from “The Treachery of Images”, a famous work in the 1920s by the Belgian surrealist painter René Magritte. The painting shows the image of a pipe above a declaration which reads, translated from French, as “This is not a pipe”. In between the line where things go from void to existence, there is a profound depth of possibility. This is not a blue bottle is the allegory of a fragrant big bang, a journey from the abstract to the most fiery of emotions in the infinite realm of blue.
