This is a stunning perfume, definitely has the modern-vintage thing going on. The hazy aura that surrounds me is that of perfume still clinging to my skin after having been with my beloved all night. It smells like dense clouds of frankincense combined with rose-scented candle wax and oodles of rich musk. Salome is warm and romantic and surprisingly wearable. While it is very animalic, it does not smell like a barnyard animal the way Muscs Koublai Khan smells. The animalic note I detect is more along the lines of leather-tinged civet.
Again, very animalic, so I might be tempted to call it raunchy, dingy, dirty, skanky, naughty, or nasty, but I feel that the negative vibes those words convey are not appropriate words for a perfume of this caliber of artistry and dedicated passion. Salome is the afterglow, not the act. It's the guy who calls the next day, not the guy who sleeps with someone else the next day. It's the vulnerability of soft lips brushing against supple skin for the first time. It is salubrious and sanctified, not sinful and salacious.
Salome is a masterpiece, the perfect addition to an already phenomenal line of carefully constructed and unhurried releases. I already loved Liz Moores' other perfumes, particularly Anubis, but Salome has sealed the deal for me in feeling that she is one of the absolute best noses in niche perfumery today. I hear whispers of a new release on the way, and I hope it's true. I eagerly look forward to any new release from Papillon.
It took me at least six months of wearing Salome over and over again to really formulate my thoughts on it. A full bottle is probably necessary.