‘The Perfumer’s Bed’
Covered by well‐worn linen, the feather filled mattress rests in soft
coolness. Layers of quilted silk coloured like the shimmering late
afternoon light are drawn across the bed’s length.
The sky pours into the room.
The perfumer’s bed, with tousled sheets of love, absorbs the skin’s
aroma, the musky excursions and the salty tears of loss. The day’s
journey, thoughts unsaid and desires of the heart
all unfold from naked limbs.
Nearby a glowing copper covered table holds an astonishing
collection: tempered notes of nature ~ cardamon, juniper berry, elemi,
rhododendron, mimosa, kewda, jasmin, tuberose, pomegranate, ginger
lily, frankincense, peru balsam, oakmoss and ambergris stand amidst
many more. All refined to essence form. Mixtures of ideas blended on
the copper surface. Written in restless repose are powerful fragments
from a bare slumber. Ephemeral, sensual notes shaped by their aromatic
character. The essences recall visions of mesmerizing heat, meadowlark
song, lashing rain and earthly kingdoms. They chant of half‐forgotten
places, far flung Arabian souks and spice trader’s perils.
Nourished, cherished, plucked, distilled, poured and jostled,
the fragrant liquid to its destiny moves.
Sentir: to feel, to touch, to smell. The scent of amber, violet, pink
lotus, and blood orange infuse the slanting phrase of a poem and the
song of the sun. Perfumes travel on the skin of my wrists. They sink into
my psyche. Perfumes witness my inner world and illustrate my story.
Becoming one with the perfume, I am an elixir, an intoxicated film of
archeology, intrigue, betrayal, passion and memory. The extent of my
day’s worth is the sillage in the air above the perfumer’s bed.
© Juliet Valmont