m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


a solid perfume locket

a solid perfume locket



rub the gold filagree dangled on a chain,
fragrant lapis lazuli heavily carved vanda token,
pink cameo silhouette pushed twice to open, 
inside a secret perfume heavenly chantilied,
powdered fingerprints dabbed to melt gently, 
oil of orange, ginger, ylang ylang and rose,
gently lifted in cold air warming under the nose,
never too much victorian feminine sensibilities,
a solid perfume locket swung with intimacy,
between her breast the fragrance melting imageries, 
an aura presented before rafting away at last, 
woven intricacies embedded in the filigrees past,
the essential oil a cure from memories pain.

in praise of veraison

in praise of veraison

i am the whip-poor-will

i am the whip-poor-will