A Fragrance Left at Twilight
The rain doesn’t just fall in this part of the city;
Manhattan Midnight
Velvet Silence Above the Neon Tide
The air in this corner office always tastes of expensive bergamot and
Symphony of Amber and Silk
The scent of white musk and sandalwood clings to my skin, a
Crimson Steel and Peony Silk
The air at this altitude tastes of ozone and expensive silence. Down
A Fragile Truce Between Steel and Petals
I left behind the scent of sterile air conditioning and Tom Ford’
The Crimson Interval
My life is measured in floor numbers and the sterile scent of
The Azure Interval
My world is usually measured in the sterile scent of Le Labo
Iridescent Silence in a Concrete Jungle
I have spent the last three years measuring my worth in quarterly
Azure Solace in a Concrete Labyrinth
For three years, my world was measured in floor-to-ceiling glass and the
The Lavender Interval Between Two Worlds
I have spent my youth in the sterile silence of glass towers,
The Crimson Interval in a Glass Tower
The air on the sixty-fourth floor smells of cold ozone and Le
The Fragrance of a Sudden Departure
I have spent the last decade ascending floors in glass towers, breathing
