Mallow is the story of a delicacy- a flower that explodes in the horizonless agreeableness of violet grease paint. A temperamental, musical scent. A singular contradiction. The real vision of a harmonious vision in contradiction. An ceaseless olfactory morsel for our cognizance, eyes, mouths and fritters. For Mallow can not be smelled. You hear it, you see it, you drink it and you touch it. Like so numerous ultra-ephemeral peppercorns, this scent is dangerously inspired by your most voluptuous murk. streamlined by heliotrope and the most uncommunicative of orange blossoms, violets will encircle your neck and wrists all the way to absolutes.
The score is written. Now it's your turn.
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