Crushed Fruits

Shimmers and unfurls like an overripe reverie, fruit flesh and flowers awakening from brandy-soaked slumber an ultraviolet tumble of plums, an infrared rush of raspberries, a kaleidoscopic cascade woven through the fold of a forgotten black velvet painting, glossy and dripping and beckoning with the urgency of a thousand hummingbird hearts. That 1970s canvas time-shifts into a 1990s dress, empire-waisted, bell-sleeved, phantom filigree choker at the throat, echoes of stompy boots, an ambery oxblood slash of Spice or Black Honey staining ghost-lips.

It’s giving summer kissed youth - first floral blooms and fruit with undertones of honey.

The best thing about this perfume is it's unique and unforgettable.