Sous le Manteau Poudre Impériale by Kanak Guo, courtesy of Sous le Manteau
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
‘Tis a violent burst, an unspeakable force, an unmatchable voice – it is a strange thing to speak of love.
Yours is an intimate glance, Mine is the lip that I bite.
And it is a body and its heart, your neck under my chin, it is a being and my being. It is you and it is I, it is your sweat against my breast and your saliva twixt my legs. It is the pepper of your calling and the salt of my pleasing. It is the story of your body to be read on my skin.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
To tell of you without telling of me. To speak of your time whilst silencing my joy, to describe your hair without admitting my weakness. Fiery flame breathing in my body, a thunder thunders me, a spring which opens my mouth to sing of thee.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
Bodies Entwined, from Unsplash.
Of your arms still warm and of I within you. Of two bodies entwined, of two souls embracing and two beings drowning in each other’s eyes. Of your shining eyebrows and childlike lashes, of your forehead, so smooth, and your feet so white.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
To face our unknown. To speak of the unspeakable minute, of this second expanding like the span of a lifetime – when we know each other perfectly, when we feel each other linked for eternity. Of this sudden blooming, to a star akin, beaming in our bellies.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
And of this hour when each other, in one another, we held on to our souls never to let go. Of this hour when we met and when we knew each other. Of this hour when we became one, together.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
And of the purple, star-piercéd nights when I smelt nothing but your scent. Of the dance of shadows on your body like a canvas, of your sparkly laughter and your smile I’d want to bite.
Purple Love, from Unsplash
There is you. And there is I.
I tasted your weakness as I was weak.
I tasted so your strength when I was meek.
I kissed your bosom as you grasped mine.
I sang a song you lulled in the hollow of my wrists.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
To tell of you is telling on me. And of the white linen sheets under which our loves were sung, unspoken. I still remember the studious hour when chanting poetry, I’d nibble on your finger, when lost in your bed I could still smell your odour. I can still remember its orange blossom halo. I can still feel and taste the softness of your curls. And the sweetness of your milk and the juice I would sip from your carnation lips. I have not forgotten the spices, you hadn’t forgotten the incense. I have not forgotten your perfume; you never judged my candour.
It is a strange thing to speak of love.
Of your skin hotter than glowing embers, of your kisses hissing like molten gold, of your tongue burning like shining cinders and your hair carrying the scent of cinnamon and lemon.
I forgot naught of you nor of these mornings.
I forgot naught of the blue hours when I slid against you, of the powdery vapours of white flowers in the air.
I forgot naught of these summers, neither of the heat, nor of the air we’d drink.
I forgot naught of the curtains and of the silence come evenstar.
The Nape of Your Neck, from Unsplash
I forgot naught of your perfume which haunts me when I wake up.
I forgot naught of your smell which I look for on every skin.
And the vigour of our mornings.
I forgot naught of your passion, naught either of your flame.
I forgot naught of our bruises, naught of our scars, naught of our tears.
I forgot naught of your sweat. I forgot naught of our hallowed hours and our timeless times, of our lives spent defying death, of the nights we tried to make up for our mistakes. No, no, no I forgot naught of our happiness drowned in the cold ocean of our pride, of the haughty insolence welling up in your eyes, of the apex of our love.
Of my loves.
Remember Me, from Unsplash
Naught of your departure. Naught of my silence. I forgot naught of the bitter bitterness which brought me back to life. Naught of your abandon, you whom I had loved. I forgot naught of your perfume clinging onto my loves. Naught of the solitude and the frost, they conquered me. I forgot naught of your elemi growing in my mother’s garden. I forgot naught of my fall and my falling in thee whilst your breath of cinnamon spired a life in my peppery lungs.
No, no, no, I did not forget you. For you are I and I am you and I did not forsake you.
Nor your empire over my dreams, nor your power on my senses.
Perfumer Nathalie Feisthauer
Sous Le Manteau Poudre Impériale is perhaps the most sensual of the collection, a powdery masterpiece created by Nathalie Feisthauer and infused with spice decoctions to bring it depth, warmth and fire, Poudre Impériale is all-at-once sensual and gourmand. It is a bliss, a kiss, an “I miss you” moment, a glance swiftly exchanged, the tension between what we are and what we allow ourselves to show, between hot and cold spices, between nutmeg and cinnamon, jasmine and elemi. A shroud of hieratic elegance through which one descries the quiet moans and the passionate roars.
Notes – Bergamot, Elemi, Cardamom, Black Pepper, Pink Pepper, Jasmine, Incense, Heliotrope, Benzoin, Musk, Vanilla
Disclaimer: This review of Sous le Manteau Poudre Impériale was first published on July 4, 2019 on The Perfume Chronicles. The bottle is from my private collection. The opinions are my own.
Alexandre Helwani, Contributor
Editor’s Note: Sous le Manteau was this year’s recipient of the Fragrance Foundation France “Newcomer of the Year” Award. Sous le Manteau is available in the USA at Indigo Perfumery
Sous Le Manteau Poudre Impériale
Thanks to the generosity of Sous le Manteau and Creative Director Olivia Bransbourg, we have a draw for 14 ml travel spray of Sous le Monteau Poudre Impériale for a registered USA, EU, or UK reader You must register or your comment will not be eligible. Please leave a comment with what you found fascinating about Alexandre’s prose and review of Poudre Impériale, and where you live. Draw closes 10/22/2020
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