Etat Libre d'Orange - Sous le pont Mirabeau
L'espérance est violente.
Mirabeau, what a beautiful word, typically Parisian, hovers over the Seine. It assembles a memory, connects with another shore and returns, following its trail of sandalwood, pink laurel and cedar. In the heart of the City of Light, on its way to the twilight of the day, there is a bridge, a poem and a perfume.
A discreet and symbolic bridge that embodies the spirit of a builder who transcends boundaries and becomes better by coming together. These solid foundations of cedarwood, sandalwood and oregano span love and musk.
A poem as slow as it is violent, expressing the brutal and desirable hope of one who wants to believe, who wants to love. Vanilla, I write your name on the water, with muted traces of incense and violet green.
A perfume that saves us, silently fishes us out of the water, takes us across the Seine, our spirits on the water of our essences, bergamot and pink berries mixed with fig in a glass bottle.
