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  V. The Pope Perfume Oil

  This is my body, he said, two thousand years ago. This is my blood.

  It was the only religion that delivered exactly what it promised: life eternal, for its adherents.

  There are some of us alive today who remember him. And some of us claim that he was a messiah, and some think that he was just a man with very special powers. But that misses the point. Whatever he was, he changed the world.

  Life everlasting: clove-smoke, benzoin, rose maroc, Jerusalem cedar, cistus, and frankincense.

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  Liz Perfume Oil

  A light, feminine vanilla floral perfume and a swirl of smoke and leather.

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  The Forest Reverie Perfume Oil

  ‘Tis said that when
  The hands of men
  Tamed this primeval wood,
  And hoary trees with groans of woe,
  Like warriors by an unknown foe,
  Were in their strength subdued,
  The virgin Earth Gave instant birth
  To springs that ne’er did flow
  That in the sun Did rivulets run,
  And all around rare flowers did blow
  The wild rose pale Perfumed the gale
  And the queenly lily adown the dale
  (Whom the sun and the dew
  And the winds did woo),
  With the gourd and the grape luxuriant grew.

  So when in tears
  The love of years
  Is wasted like the snow,
  And the fine fibrils of its life
  By the rude wrong of instant strife
  Are broken at a blow
  Within the heart
  Do springs upstart
  Of which it doth now know,
  And strange, sweet dreams,
  Like silent streams
  That from new fountains overflow,
  With the earlier tide
  Of rivers glide
  Deep in the heart whose hope has died —
  Quenching the fires its ashes hide, —
  Its ashes, whence will spring and grow
  Sweet flowers, ere long,
  The rare and radiant flowers of song!

  A sunlit ancient forest, dotted with wild roses, grape vine, and queenly lilies, clothed in swirls of opium smoke.

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  These Shabby Days Perfume Oil

  “…Our kind of people, we are…” He waved the cigarillo about, as if using it to hunt for a word, then stabbing forward with it. “…exclusive. We’re not social. Not even me. Not even Bacchus. Not for long. We walk by ourselves or we stay in our own little groups. We do not play well with others. We like to be adored and respected and worshiped—me, I like them to be tellin’ tales about me, tales showing my cleverness. It’s a fault, I know, but it’s the way I am. We like to be big. Now, in these shabby days, we are small. The new gods rise and fall and rise again. But this is not a country that tolerates gods for long. Brahma creates, Vishnu preserves, Shiva destroys, and the ground is clear for Brahma to create once more.”

  Memories of myrrh and gold, and the dying smoke of a snuffed cigarillo.

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