Soom and Gilloom own the Room of Perfume. As you can tell, they will sell you a smell. Soom and Gilloom spray to banish all gloom. Their odors in jarlets will soon cast a spell.
Theirs the perfume filled with store. Theirs the odors and much more. Theirs the fragrances to use, to seduce, vamp and confuse.
Spray some on your handy back hand, take a sniff to understand, if you aren’t female enough, they’ve got bottles filled with the stuff.
Soom and Gilloom will spray the whole room. If you don’t like, you had best move and soon. Soom and Gilloom will sell you to consume. If you don’t like it, you will like it soon.
“Cylcops, try a little mist.”
“Cyclops, you will be surely kissed.”
“Cyclops try a whiff – if you don’t, it’s forever if.”
Cyclops gets the advice from Soom and Gilloom, and the advice is so nice, so pleasant and nice, to try out the smells in some jars shaped like bells. She gets it in her ears, the words about here, place and time and smell and crime, the words about odors that move men like motors.
“Will these perfumes make me feel more like the woman that I am? Will I be more woman than a woman named Sam? Will I be more woman or will I be flim flam? Will I be more woman or must I say goddamn?” Cyclops asks it and she gets back nods. The heads are telling her so much yes, and she tries a little spray on the front of her dress. She tries a little spritz in her fancy hair-do, she tries a little bit from that bottle, and why wouldn’t she do, and why wouldn’t you.
It is wet but then it’s dry. You can smell it some all day. It is mist but then the air. Just the odor makes you care.
Soom and Gilloom are as loud as the tomb. What they might tell you could lead to your doom. Soom and Gilloom hardly ever assume. If you are finished, they’ll sweep you like broom.
Their odors can be hard to see. Their odors can be memory. Their odors can make the garage turn into a castle thru smell mirage.
Their odors give you slender legs, their odors produce better eggs, their smells can clothe you in the spring, their smells imagine everything.
“Did you find the fragrance that will suit you best?” said Soom.
“Did you feel the impact, or must you make a test?” said Gilloom.
“Is your nose delighted?” said Soom in day and knighted.
“Will you get the man you want?” said Gilloom, her stomach taut.
Cyclops was spraying like a springer, but then she had to put the bottle down. She had to take it down and put it down and put it on the table. She had to put it on the counter, the bottle and the spray and the smell that lasts all day.
Was the smelling for a manning, or was it for something down the other path of pathing. Was it for a guy, or was it just for the apple of her eye. Was it for some tom dick or tom’s son, or was it for the special star Dingy Bahsome.
“Do you have anything a girl would like?” thought Cyclops to ask, but Soom and Gilloom just think she’s a dyke.
“Can’t help you there,” said Soom or Gilloom.
“Guess I’m too square,” said Gilloom or Soom.
And they don’t really understand the Cyclops and her quest, and the Cyclops doesn’t even know what’s best, what’s best for her, what is the cure, which way to go or high or low.
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