Leda and the Swan-Y. B. Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still

Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed

By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,

He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push

The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?

And how can body, laid in that white rush,

But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there

The broken wall, the burning roof and tower

And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,

Did she put on his knowledge with his power

Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The rush of wings, a bucolic tryst with a soft feathered winged creature which results in two sets of twins, all fated to be cultural pivot points.  da Vinci shows the happy family, dad with his wing around the svelte hip of mom who smiles beatifically at her brood.

Red and perfect strawberry juice with a goodly background of the green frill of the berry, a new and green earthy patchouli, a little fig to sweeten the mix, a background of white musk. A divinely sexy thing over which to lose one’s mind for a while in sweet relief. A bit naughty but the consequences could be mighty.

Foody and fruity, musky and resinous.