VOIE LACTÉE

A little pink pepper sparks, then
champaka and a cold drop of pineapple
juice land softly.

It’s that first cool inhale when you step
outside at night and the stars suddenly
feel close enough to taste.

Crisp, quiet, a tiny smile you didn’t plan.

Ylang and tiaré bloom slow and tropical,
litchi slips in like the sweetest secret.
This is the part where someone pours
moon-milk straight into the air.

Everything loosens.
You’re floating in the softest, sweetest
darkness.

Vetiver roots it gently, vegetal amber
glows low, cedarwood holds the whole sky
up without making a sound.
Hours later it’s still there, like the night
decided to stay on your skin.

Weightless, endless, home.