Apparently, we did not need the moon to dance in darkness. Skin absorbed sunlight and held it, so this ribbon of climax could exert its faint glow—just enough to make visible the shades of black, the iris of eyes. The ceilings dissolved, the stars forgot their duties as constellations and fell, dusting our shoulders with the swirl of rococo galaxies. Chandeliers dripping with glass lustres, extravagant mouldings, soft carpets. Georges Bizet lived and worked in this house. With fingers, we swept the curves of our cheeks, blessed tongues with drops of tequila, salt and silver. That night, the walls were crumbling, we no longer had names and became at last the tasters of light.
SBL & OAK party for SS2015 Menswear at Le Carmen, Paris, photos by Grace Atkinson.