Perfume…scent…memory…liminal…trigger…

We are assaulted by THE TRUTH at every sharp,
shiny, green angle when we uncork something
fine like Labyrinth Libertin by Prince Jardinier,
as we did from a pale apple green box with a
tourmaline ribbon this freezing morning after a
firm February fourteenth finger fucking (just
kidding about that last part.) 🙂

Polite detractors and bitter bitches alike (Hi,
Mom) might polemicize that from this so-called
“scientific” scent environment might also arise
something like seeing the face of Jesus in a
tasty golden brown grilled cheese sandwich
(mmmm…), or the Sacred Virgin Mary in
somebody’s old Jeri-Curl stain on a bus window
in Flint.

Lonely we wait for some return signal from you
wallflowers and wall followers alike. Send word
to us please, right away–by flap of butterfly
wing, omenous cloud pattern or ornithomantics.
We at Wit await your secret signal.

WotS 2/14/07

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