The sweet alchemy failed to appear; mould and the vapour of milk became my lot.
Alas, the longed-for sweetness, that golden nectar which I intended to extract in the secret alembic of my hope, reveals itself but meagerly. Instead of lovely honeyed sweetness, a vapor rises to my nostrils that recalls musty soil, dirty cellars, and a strangely milky cloudiness. Perhaps my unwashed body, this imperfect shell of flesh and bone, spoils the alchemical development of the scent; or perhaps my expectations were pitched too high, as if I had hoped for the sweetness of heavenly ambrosia from a simple elixir. For the palate of my senses, alas, a work devoid of magic and statement, lacking the spirit of true alchemy.
Sillage
Longevity
Uniqueness
Gender⚥
