Opoponax - Black

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    Dead Words on a Dead Frequency Perfume Oil

    “You’re dead, Mad Sweeney,” said Shadow. “You take what you’re given when you’re dead.”

    “Aye, that I shall,” sighed the dead man sitting in the back of the hearse. The junkie whine had vanished from his voice now, replaced with a resigned flatness, as if the words were being broadcast from a long, long way away, dead words being sent out on a dead frequency.

    Tinny eucalyptus and elemi against a flat black backdrop of opoponax.

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  • Pendel Perfume Oil

    Alfred Kubin

    A troglobiotic scent: black opoponax, sibilant white musk, black moss, shadowed stone, moonmilk, and cave-bleached serpent scales.

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    The Edge of Doom Perfume Oil

    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

    The night flight from Tangier: drops of spilled blood color the antiseptic, bland, plastic paleness of the fuselage, with violet leaf for longing, rosemary for reminiscences, and black opoponax for apprehension.

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