PERFUME
- Mar 21
- 1 min read
By Lewis Brown
Speaking as a lover of cat piss, pantyhose and older women,
I can say confidently that this perfume is for everyone.
It opens with bold top notes of patchouli and incense
followed by the unmistakable scent of pastrami sandwiches
the kind your high school bully used to eat
and vegetables slowly spoiling in a hot rubber bowl.
Next come the middle notes
or as I like to call them, the Incident:
an accord of caribou musk and poison,
undergirded by a whiff of sour cortisol.
The word that comes to mind is ‘evil’,
the silage lingers like a mummy’s curse.
Your co-workers will not thank you if you wear this,
but they should.
Last comes the dry down, the aftercare,
the cup of cocoa and a woollen blanket.
There, there. Breathe deep,
inhale the playful brine, the gentle oud.
You are a sunken ship. A deep sea church.
The billionaires will be here soon,
begging you to crush their submarine.
You could. You must.
The fragrance has revealed a hidden truth
and you must act before it fades.
Fix your hearts or die – that’s not a threat.
Sort your smell – that is.