Jenjin

Red musk, wildflower honey, elemi, tangerine, and mint.

O lips full of lust and of laughter,

Curled snakes that are fed from my breast,

Bite hard, lest remembrance come after

And press with new lips where you pressed.

Labdanum, black plum, black currant, violet, and champaca flower.

And they laughed, changing hands in the measure,

And they mixed and made peace after strife;

Pain melted in tears, and was pleasure;

Death tingled with blood, and was life.

Like lovers they melted and tingled,

In the dusk of thine innermost fane;

In the darkness they murmured and mingled,

Our Lady of Pain.

Gleaming black vetiver, bay laurel, opoponax, hiba wood, Spanish moss, clove, and leather accord.

Thou shalt blind his bright eyes though he wrestle,

Thou shalt chain his light limbs though he strive;

In his lips all thy serpents shall nestle,

In his hands all thy cruelties thrive.

In the daytime thy voice shall go through him,

In his dreams he shall feel thee and ache;

Thou shalt kindle by night and subdue him

Asleep and awake.

Golden amber, frankincense, white ginger, and oudh.

When, with flame all around him aspirant,

Stood flushed, as a harp-player stands,

The implacable beautiful tyrant,

Rose-crowned, having death in his hands;

And a sound as the sound of loud water

Smote far through the flight of the fires,

And mixed with the lightning of slaughter

A thunder of lyres. 

Glittering amber, frankincense, neroli, vanilla silk, and champaca.

O garment not golden but gilded,

O garden where all men may dwell,

O tower not of ivory, but builded

By hands that reach heaven from hell;

O mystical rose of the mire,

O house not of gold but of gain,

O house of unquenchable fire,

Our Lady of Pain!

No jokes here: who wouldn’t love a heart-shaped hot tub?
A bubbling vat of red musk, sweet red wine, benzoin, red oudh, and lush magnolia.

Raw, wet beets, pulsating blood musk, and raw wild ginger.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

― Walt Whitman

White honey, warm musk, and ambrette seed.

All shrines that were Vestal are flameless,

But the flame has not fallen from this;

Though obscure be the god, and though nameless

The eyes and the hair that we kiss;

Low fires that love sits by and forges

Fresh heads for his arrows and thine;

Hair loosened and soiled in mid orgies

With kisses and wine.

Unnaturally appealing, radiant with an unwholesome luster!
Peppermint-laced preserved cherries soaking in thick lime syrup, dashed with a sliver of yuzu.

Spiked for your pleasure: protrusions of pomegranate and pink peppercorn.

Pale frankincense, styrax, East African black patchouli, cinnamon leaf, rosewood, and palisander.

Who has known all the evil before us,

Or the tyrannous secrets of time?

Though we match not the dead men that bore us

At a song, at a kiss, at a crime–

Though the heathen outface and outlive us,

And our lives and our longings are twain–

Ah, forgive us our virtues, forgive us,

Our Lady of Pain.

Black plum, wild lily, and tobacco.

Seven sorrows the priests give their Virgin;

But thy sins, which are seventy times seven,

Seven ages would fail thee to purge in,

And then they would haunt thee in heaven:

Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,

And the loves that complete and control

All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows

That wear out the soul.

Black patchouli, honey, and thick vanilla amber.

For my heart too springs up at the pressure,

Mine eyelids too moisten and burn;

Ah, feed me and fill me with pleasure,

Ere pain come in turn.

A genteel affair that presses against the constraints of common decency:
tumescent black silk, pink sugared patent leather, rich tobacco leaf, sunrise papaya,
and mango cream with crystalline trickles of clean pup sweat.

I am his Highness’ dog at Kew,

Pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?

― Alexander Pope

A genteel affair that presses against the constraints of common decency:

tumescent black silk, pink sugared patent leather, rich tobacco leaf, sunrise papaya,
and mango cream with crystalline trickles of clean pup sweat.

I am his Highness’ dog at Kew,

Pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?

― Alexander Pope

Basically fruit roll-ups for your naughty bits: wild cherry and sugared up strawberry with hot pink peppercorn.

Snap! Snap! Sugar crystals and tart candies with a splash of red musk.

Results not guaranteed. Ginseng root, crushed ginger, damiana essence, cubeb berries, and horny goat weed accord.

Dragon’s blood resin, myrrh, red musk, vetiver, black clove, and cassia.

What broke off the garlands that girt you?

What sundered you spirit and clay?

Weak sins yet alive are as virtue

To the strength of the sins of that day.

For dried is the blood of thy lover,

Ipsithilla, contracted the vein;

Cry aloud, “Will he rise and recover,

Our Lady of Pain?”

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No Additional Scent Description. 

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When you need a change of pace from Strip Twister: lemon candies, orange suckers, and strawberry sugar.

Honeysuckle, Moroccan jasmine, and opium smoke.

In a twilight where virtues are vices,

In thy chapels, unknown of the sun,

To a tune that enthralls and entices,

They were wed, and the twain were as one.

For the tune from thine altar hath sounded

Since God bade the world’s work begin,

And the fume of thine incense abounded,

To sweeten the sin.

No additional scent description.