I am smooth as velvet pure;
akin to a smoky breath,
my taste runs darker than rum.
I'm a fragrance rejected
by the spectrum of seven.
Cimmerian crashing waves
in the deepest dusk of day,
painted on the horizon,
I watch the sun lay to rest.
Licking a tulip's petal,
I adorn an amethyst
oh so regal in bearing.
'Pray tell,' I sigh, 'what am I?'

