It is the perfume of a spirit writing in immaterial ink under your skin.
It is m/mink. » —
TI concedes...fashion is crack cuz I would fly to Paris just to pick up a M/Mink at Colette. Even though everybody in our clique has decided Colette is now another Rue St Honore commercial tourist trap. Still who doesn't want to sit on Air France reeking of adoxal? (The heart of M/Mink consists of incense with a dry-down of patchouli leaf, clover honey and amber). Never has the act of writing seemed more 19th century sexual. I spasm in anticipation.