Rose CO2 Oil Bulgaria

To bury one’s nose in Rose CO2 is to inhale an everlasting deliverance to Cupid’s dedication for love. It’s the flower that steals sunsets and hearts and has survived the entanglement of myth, legend and scented sofas of Nero’s time. It’s the floral heritage I inhale in my eighty year old bottle of rose otto; the scent that wafts when making rosary beads from rose petal paste, blackened by time and soft warm hands.

This damascena profile holds an ancient rose scent that graciously weaves deertongue, clove bud and myrrh CO2 with the intricacy of Irish carrickmacross lace; notes so complete it composes as its own accord. It’s the perfumer’s paradise; the one aromatic willing to take a composition to its highest possibility. Once diluted, rose CO2 opens up as one of the most beautiful extractions I’ve ever experienced in the damascena family. I have worn the dilution in the spirit of flower priestesses and every poem ever written about the flower. The CO2 holds court in unisex compositions with the lusciousness I reckon took place in rose scented Alexandria. It’s a middle note, a bridge that holds the rose accountable to its scent long after the fresh flower has faded.