Black Opium



I’m no Edgar Allan Poe to have acclimatised my system in the invariably exciting habit of opium eating, but I sure know how to feel a good ole Black Opium buzz under some meditated drizzle of liquid black coffee, a pinch of pink pepper, shade of vanilla and jasmine brought to you bottled courtesy of Yves Saint Laurent perfumery.
One certainty is that unbeknownst to the author’s bleakest glorification of  “The Raven”, Black Opium borrows a similar obsidian grandeur in the face of a black clad lady who comes to the rescue of the nameless narrator. He who will no longer weep for Lenore as he knows that…
Those who dream by day
are cognisant of many things
that escape those who dream
only at night.