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  Good Ship Venus Perfume Oil

  The third mate’s name was Morgan
  By God he was a gorgon
  From half past eight he played till late
  Upon the captain’s organ

  The rest of the lyrics are too bawdy for me to post outside of a Lupercalia warning.

  Salt-crusted wooden planks warmed by cardamom, 7-year aged patchouli, tonka bean, mace, and black pepper.

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• 

  Swarmageddon Perfume Oil

  The cry of the cicada

  Gives us no sign

  That presently they will die

  – Matsuo Bashō, translated by William George Aston

   

  This year, the forests of the eastern United States will be abuzz (pun intended) with the concurrent emergence of two separate broods, the 17-year-old Brood XIII and 13-year-old Brood XIX. A cicada extravaganza like this one hasn’t been seen since 1803!

   

  A scent fit for a Swarmageddon: soft, dark soil, black pepper, tonka bean, decaying leaves, licorice root, ambrette seed, sweet vetiver, bourbon vanilla, oakmoss, brown labdanum, elm bark, vegetable leather, clary sage, 13-year aged patchouli, 17-year aged patchouli, and two bright red specs of dragon’s blood resin.

   

  Art: Kingfisher, Cicada, and Willow Tree, Qing Dynasty, China

  Out of Stock
• 

  Wilde Perfume Oil

  To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
  This paltry age’s gaudy livery,
  To let each base hand filch my treasury,
  To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
  And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom, — I swear
  I love it not! these things are less to me
  Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
  Less than the thistle-down of summer air
  Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
  Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
  Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
  Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
  Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
  Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.
  
  A sophisticated traditional gentleman’s cologne, with just the slightest taint of patchouli’s passion, tonka bean’s decadence, the philanthropy of bergamot, moss’ cynicism, the sharp wit of lavender, and the hopeless romantic longing of jasmine and thyme.

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  The Butterfly Perfume Oil

  Then one afternoon the butterfly wobbled out of a breeze and lit on the tip of her horn. He was velvet all over, dark and dusty, with golden spots on his wings, and he was as thin as a flower petal. Dancing along her horn, he saluted her with his curling feelers. “I am a roving gambler. How do you do?”

  Fuzzy brown tonka bean, golden amber, bergamot, nutmeg, and petitgrain.

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