Opalescent lips smudged at the edges, messy spring winds, worn spines of records, shrines of star jasmine, ripped powder-blue silk, a sweet crescendo, phantom pheromones in gossamer threads, snow white musk, cloudy sake, soft feelings, a head rush, the ghost of her.

Eight fragrances inspired by eight moments come together in this Discothèque discovery set to change your life.

C’est vous, it’s you, pressed between bodies, a taste of Monte Carlo on a hot night in June, sapphire droplets, espresso black chocolate, sweat and suede fringe, amber eye trances, quick stolen glances, skin flush from a crush and marked with a bite.

Velvet ropes, spirals of sandalwood smoke, love letters and curses, white chocolates in pockets, a moment of softness, razor-edged nails, tiered chandeliers, a glimpse of the moon high in the sky, a whisper on lips that turns into a 4am surprise.

Palm trees, a wild sweet breeze, fortunes told, green tea leaves, naked hips, Freudian slips, loose lips, sandalwood embers in warm amber sunsets, a city of angels with no angels, a haven for heathens, cowboys and nymphos.

Leather and gin and glistening skin, crimson nights and black box peepholes, a bath of glowing amber, a key on a chain, a figment of the subconscious in a saffron haze, silhouette reflections in infinite mirrors, eyes that can’t look away.

Silky waters, crystal goblets and champagne bottles, iris sprigs, wild vines of jasmine, intertwined limbs and steamy handprints, a timeless ruse, a poet and a muse, an ocean of violets in bloom, “love is a reciprocal torture,” breathed through a cloud of powder.

Velvet ropes, spirals of sandalwood smoke, love letters and curses, white chocolates in pockets, a moment of softness, razor-edged nails, tiered chandeliers, a glimpse of the moon high in the sky, a whisper on lips that turns into a 4am surprise.

Linen and skin, soft sage crowns, Aphrodite rising from her pearly shell, poetry whispered in the wind, a tryst on the shores of the Aegean Sea, moss-covered rocks under cerulean sky, barefoot on the terrace, moving to the rhythm of the riptides.

Whipped cream foam, a suede jacket, the scent of cedar, blood orange, the lyrics burn-baby-burn as your heart floats in a fluffy vanilla sky, the night you fall in love in the Meatpacking District.

A violet half-moon, cliffs that glow in the night, twirling vines of jasmine, whirlpools of aquamarine, swirling auroras and stalactite, sandalwood cream, cypress trees, a ritual of mystic devotion, a love set in motion in blue velvet waters.

A warm shock to the system, honey-coloured light, a red-apple heart with an electric synth beat, violet eyes, a utopia for misfits, wallflowers in bloom, almond tree blossoms on a crisp autumn night.

Mouthfuls of purple rain, a taste of blackcurrant and honey, a blooming orange blossom, rapture in an 8-track, that sacred second between songs, violet and amber lights, a cyclone on the dance floor.

The tongue twist of a maraschino stem, sweet stained lips, cherry cream pie, milky waves of cumulous clouds, bourbon vanilla icing, a silky confection, an insatiable craving, a dessert of debauchery and glamour.

A saffron glow, eye contact and melting honey, amber spotlights and hot pepper, shimmering sweat and pressed mouths, the taste of chocolate and free love, a fleeting moment that feels colossal.