The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[butters]

scent: a shower
sight: shadows
sound: silence
taste: summer
touch: softness

private library

in the softness of a summer shower
that brings its memories
of ripe peaches to the tongue
and where the silence of petrichor
wraps its own shadows around your thoughts
you sit in your special room
windows open to sights and sound
mind open to the whisperings of books
that line every wall
climb every recess
and fill every table
even as your fingers cross smooth continents
and oceans roll beneath them
round the axis of the faded
fascinating
globe


sight: pale moon in the daytime sky
sound: a woodpecker drilling a trunk
taste: charcoal
scent: old urine
touch: the smooth, organic feel of old oak wood flooring

 

[29wordsforsnow]

sight: pale moon in the daytime sky
sound: a woodpecker drilling a trunk
taste: charcoal
scent: old urine
touch: the smooth, organic feel of old oak wood flooring

~~~

On rue de meaux, it's common law
beneath a smiling cheese-skinned moon
no matter if it's dark or noon
a cat must stride on paw by paw
all ignorance, no sign of awe
for dogs' piss stench right on the ground
a busy beak's jackhammer sound
right next to black suit's constant caw
cars will break for feline chutzpah
crowded streets a catwalk away
the twinkle-toed, dressed in cliche
returns home to Madame Dumas
stairways to heaven, five floors up
first thing to have: a tiny cup
its subtle notes: charcoal, framboise
keeps running down the furry jaw
filtrated first, then eau-de-vie
one drop alone for Aurelie
supplied with taste by grand-papa
Monsieur Leclerc, old, bald, bourgeois
spent, still here, and mostly naked
there's no need to simply fake it
wrists tied with scarfs of black surah
muted by a spoiled matching bra
emptied, he never felt as good
as now, lying on the hard wood
music in his ears as each claw
accompanied by his soft Aah
worms tones out of the stained oak's grain
the audience awake again
his stamina a tragic flaw
and only done when sore and raw
nails sink into the heaving chest
there is no better place to rest
thinks the cat of Madame Dumas.

~~~

scent: salty
sight: umbrellas
sound: heartbeats
taste: something done with lemons
touch: rough wool

 

[XShadynzX]

scent: salty
sight: umbrellas
sound: heartbeats
taste: something done with lemons
touch: rough wool

Breathing in the cold air from the sea
The salty scent tickles the back of my throat
Bringing back memories of summer and sun

Umbrellas brightly coloured line up
Like soldiers on parade
The sun hot and heavy on the sand
Cooling now as winter comes

I close my eyes and remember the
lemonade that you made
the sharp, bright scent of lemons
squeezed to make the drink we loved

Our heartbeats loud in our ears
As my cheek rests on the rough wool
of your favourite sweater
Your arms around me, hold me close
as your warm breath stirs my hair


Sight: Mountains
Sound: Birds
Taste: Honey
Touch: Grass
Scent: Hay

 

[Wordcascade]

Sight: Mountains
Sound: Birds
Taste: Honey
Touch: Grass
Scent: Hay

Touch-a handle
Taste- dirt
Sight - water
sound- ringtone
scent- fresh rain

 

[Angeline]

Touch-a handle
Taste- dirt
Sight - water
sound- ringtone
scent- fresh rain


Penobscot Country Club, July 2004

It was after midnight
when we crossed, no traffic
just an empty ribbon of road,
black and winding in dips
and turns toward Bangor,
streetlights shining on puddles,
glassy and rainbow-hued
beneath a galaxy of stars,
a thousand wishes waiting
to be made.

The air was fresh, clean,
redolent of petrichor and we ran
hand in hand like naughty school kids
sneaking onto the golf course,
sneaking behind the clubhouse
to the 7th green, me holding the handle
of our picnic basket: a baguette,

cheese and a beaujolais,
fruity, sweet and cold.

We made love right there
on that soft bright grass,
mouths tasting of wine
and a hint of dirt too,
from our energetic exercises,
rolling on that wet carpet.

When my phone rang
with its characteristic tone
we ignored it and watched
the Moon instead.






Sight: flowers
Scent: dirt
Sound: bells
Taste: berries
Touch: piano

 

[Tzara]

Sight: flowers
Scent: dirt
Sound: bells
Taste: berries
Touch: piano

Pianissimo

At the end of Ives' Third Symphony
there are the sounds of distant bells,
so faint in some recordings
as to be almost inaudible. So
are my fading memories of you—
like that late spring day,
walking through a field of random
daffodils, the loamy scent of earth
damp from a brief rain on our boots.
How odd I can still taste your lipstick,
sweet as ripe strawberries,
when I kissed you, but your smile
is quite lost to me, the texture
of your hair, the warmth of your arms.
But the hard slickness of the white keys
when you tried to teach me the Gymnopédie
still sits in my fingertips
as if etched there by loneliness
or simply by separation from my heart.

Scent: Some kind of solvent
Sight: Stretched canvas
Sound: Rock music (muted, as if in another room)
Taste: Whiskey or brandy
Touch: Burnished metal

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Scent: Some kind of solvent
Sight: Stretched canvas
Sound: Rock music (muted, as if in another room)
Taste: Whiskey or brandy
Touch: Burnished metal

cold, hard perfection opens her door
every curve as if chiseled and polished
for centuries, and that's just the handle
to the inner sanctuary holding a modern
Velasquez' Venus marvelously hidden
from his stardust in the studio downstairs
guitars, drums and a glass cutter's voice
rich for a minute, Jim, Jack & Johnny his
oxygen to breathe, present on my tongue
like the question if, for a second, she'd turn
thinner invades my mind, adding details
and myself to picture that is his to take
the bare, taut fabric begs for the touch
of the palest pink in my paintbox
and yet I'd love to see deeper.

Scent: something flammable
Sight: an accident
Sound: a lone instrument
Taste: tears
Touch: something turning cold

 

[Angeline]

Scent: something flammable
Sight: an accident
Sound: a lone instrument
Taste: tears
Touch: something turning cold

Accidental Memory

We were driving north
on 95, heading for the Chesapeake
Bay Bridge when traffic slowed,
moving by inches it seemed.

Staties were weaving past
a tangle of cars and trucks,
drivers craning necks, trying
to see but we smelled it first,
smoke and gasoline,

a nauseating combination
that propelled me years back
to a late night crash on the PA turnpike,
car rolling over and over
until we stopped, smashed
into a hillside, five teenaged girls
screaming, trapped till a trucker
pulled us out in shock
and confusion: I thought the sirens
were trumpets.

Later in the hospital
I tasted my father's tears of relief
as he held me. Sister's car was gone
but we were ok.

That memory, the thought
of my frightened then grateful parents
and the sense of safety that would be torn
from us eternally when sister died suddenly,
unexpectedly just a few years later
combined with the smell of burning
gas to sicken me and I vomited.

The memories sicken me still.

You brushed back my hair,
kissed my forehead,
held my cold hands.



Scent: lilacs
Sight: a ghost
Sound: music (be specific)
Taste: honey
Touch: something ragged

 

[XShadynzX]

Scent:Lilacs
Sight:a ghost
Sound:Music ( be specific)
Taste: honey
Touch: something ragged

The scent of lilacs
Heady and sweet filled the air
Tea in fine china cups, hot and sweet
With the taste of honey
Soft strains of Mozart's Quartet in F adding to
The quiet hum of conversation
Looking up, I saw you there
Pale as a ghost
"She's gone " you said
Looking down at the table, tears in my eyes,
The ragged edges of the serviette rough on my fingers,
I took in the words, scarcely believing the truth
But deep down , knowing them to be true
The end of a reign
The beginning of a new era

Taste: Pork
Sight: River
Scent: Roses
Touch: Wood
Sound: Thunder

 

[EllenMore]

Taste: Pork
Sight: River
Scent: Roses
Touch: Wood
Sound: Thunder

Hill Country

We ate ribs—sloppy, smoky,
falling off the bone—and drank Lone Star
from the bottle, dripping
with condensation, leaving rings
of moisture on the rough wood
of the picnic table. The yellow roses
in the bud vase had wilted,
but their scent—heavy, floral—
kept attracting ants, which you brushed
away with little success.

After eating, we sat and watched the slow
flow of the Guadalupe as it snaked
past the campground
on its long trip down to the Gulf.
We talked, about nothing really,
just because our voices slipped around us
like arms in the gathering darkness.
When we heard the groan of thunder,
still very far away, we crept into the tent
to make our own little storm
that lasted through the generous night.

Scent: Citrus fruit
Sight: An empty road
Sound: Wind
Taste: Salt
Touch: Something rough

 

[Remec]

Scent: Citrus fruit
Sight: An empty road
Sound: Wind
Taste: Salt
Touch: Something rough

Sheltering in Place

They said it was a tornado watch,
not yet a warning,
but the lack of traffic made me think
our neighbors weren't taking chances;
Sitting on the porch swing,
listening to the whistle of air whipping
past and the jingle-jingle-slam of wind chimes
being overpowered,
I am distracted from the still raw wood of the swing,
always planning to paint or varnish
never even managing to sand it smooth,
by the sudden appearance of sustenance,
I smelled the lime while several feet away,
the all the other hints of this and that as the cool glass
was in my hand and I took a sip,
my tongue caressing the lingering taste of salt on my lips
much like how it licked the various
tastes of you earlier in the morning.

---

Sight: eyes
Sound: drums
Scent: incense
Taste: something comforting
Touch: vibrating

 

[I_AM_ONE_OF_YOU]

An Indian wedding.

As our eager eyes met,
In between the chaos around
Families happy, relatives busy,
All the dear ones engaged with duties.
And the chaos within us talks,
Louder than the wedding dhol and drums.
My heart wandering towards you
Like the essence of the incense sticks
that are lit, and the gray smoke evaporating.
As our aura resonates together
Our vibes vibrates within.
Our closeted feelings exploding,
Our much awaited search ending.
How I was waiting for you,
For your presence in my life,
Something comforting like the warm milk
Shared between our lips
at our wedding night, our first time ever.
I was looking for you, and I found you
A warm place, my sweet home.

[Dhol - Indian drums, used at weddings particularly.
Warm milk at wedding night, is a custom at first night of married couples]

Thanks for this challenge @Remec

Sight: Mikrokosmos
Sound: Guitar
Scent: vanilla
Taste: spicy noodles
Touch: hand shake.

 

[I_AM_ONE_OF_YOU]

This is such an interesting and engaging thread. Lot to learn and understand here.
Trying to write a poetry, sorry if it's not upto the mark, I'm not a writer and English is not my first language either. But can't stop trying out poetry, at any given time.
Thanks for creating this thread.
Good going.

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight: Mikrokosmos
Sound: Guitar
Scent: vanilla
Taste: spicy noodles
Touch: hand shake.

Hello

Even with The Hubble almost retired
I can see not just stars,
but galaxies circling the black hole
in your hazel eyes
wondering if somewhere in all this
is a microscopic me
praising the divine being above
who hugs my hand
makes me wish it was my body
Jacques tunes his guitar
to your very anthem - Substitute
Régis's sick, and the band
is no orchestra, needs a lead singer
and this is what you do
my legs made of lead all of a sudden
left and right you kiss
my cheeks, cheekily leaving a trace
of hot and tasty ramen
the corner of my lips are on fire
like billowing smoke
they rise skywards for the next two hours
in Denise's cloud
of vanilla perfume in the back of the show
together we sing along
refrains and the praises of lovers lost and won
coming through the speakers
your voice's very vibes vertigo my senses
I keep falling
...
for you

----

scent: home
sight: a ring
sound: dogs
taste: (something) stale
touch: dust

 

[I_AM_ONE_OF_YOU]

Hello

Even with The Hubble almost retired
I can see not just stars,
but galaxies circling the black hole
in your hazel eyes
wondering if somewhere in all this
is a microscopic me
praising the divine being above
who hugs my hand
makes me wish it was my body
Jacques tunes his guitar
to your very anthem - Substitute
Régis's sick, and the band
is no orchestra, needs a lead singer
and this is what you do
my legs made of lead all of a sudden
left and right you kiss
my cheeks, cheekily leaving a trace
of hot and tasty ramen
the corner of my lips are on fire
like billowing smoke
they rise skywards for the next two hours
in Denise's cloud
of vanilla perfume in the back of the show
together we sing along
refrains and the praises of lovers lost and won
coming through the speakers
your voice's very vibes vertigo my senses
I keep falling
...
for you

----

scent: home
sight: a ring
sound: dogs
taste: (something) stale
touch: dust

A dream.

A home with you is all I want.
You, as my man, my lover.
Making little babies
Like you and me
Having a few dogs and cats
A sweet home for us
And our beloved ones.

I wish, you would pull-out
A ring from no where
Surprise me, shock me
And then make me yours forever.
But my man, My dear lover,
You exist only in the books.
A character, a writer has etched out.

And so, I come back to reality
Have my stale bread and black coffee
And move on to my daily routine.
And my man in the book
I read sometimes,
And sometimes it's untouched
for months, catching dust.

And I alone keep dreaming
Fantasizing about someone
Who doesn't even exist.
A man with whom
I would want my home.
My dream man.
Is just 'A dream'

Thanks for the challenege @29wordsforsnow

Sight: Purple hue
Sound: Piano
Scent: Sandal
Taste: rose water
Touh: wax

 

[XShadynzX]

A dream.

A home with you is all I want.
You, as my man, my lover
Making little babies
Like you and me
Having a few dogs and cats
A sweet home for us
And our beloved.

I wish you would pull-out
A ring from no where
Surprise me, shock me
And then make me yours forever.
But my man, My dear lover,
You exist only in the books.
A character, a writer has etched out.

And so, I come back to reality
Have my stale bread and black coffee
And move on to my daily routine.
And my man in the book
I read sometimes,
And sometimes it's untouched
for months, catching dust.

And I alone keep dreaming
Fantasizing about someone
Who doesn't even exist.
A man with whom
I would want my home.
My dream man.
Is just 'A dream'

Thanks for the challenege @29wordsofsnow.

Sight: Purple hue
Sound: Piano
Scent: Sandal
Taste: rose water
Touh: wax

Dusk falls and the distant mountains
Shimmer in the purple hue of days end
You and I stand on the balcony holding hands

Silence all around except for the quiet sound
Of someone playing soft jazz on the piano
The scent of sandalwood caught on the evening breeze fills our nostrils
An earthy, heavy scent, rich and dark

Behind us a table, two glasses of champagne, a plate of rosewater Turkish Delights
Wait for us to share when the music's done
A candle sputters and I trace the lines of cold wax that form on the pristine cloth
Trying to read our future
but I cannot


Sight: Orange trees
Sound: Drums
Taste: Apple
Scent :Gunpowder
Touch: Silk

 

[Voboy]

Sight: Orange trees
Sound: Drums
Taste: Apple
Scent :Gunpowder
Touch: Silk

Whispered, across the hairs of my cheek,
Like silk drifts the breeze in the orchard.
The trees, rowed like all crops,
Stretch around, vaultlike, sleepy with their oranges gone:
A Cordoba Mosque of boles and bark,
Their brown, dry roof stirred by that whispered breeze.

I know it's autumn.

I know it from the hunters,
Roaming the woods along the river, their
Gunpowder drumbeats taking birds, deer;
I know it from the apple, tart in my mouth,
Dredged through the maple beside my waffles.
I know it from my lover, needing warmth now into the nights;
I know it because I've passed another birthday
With the wind on my face.




Sight: thunderclouds
Sound: eighties music
Taste: black olives
Smell: roadkilled skunk
Touch: oiled metal

 

[Angeline]

Sight: thunderclouds
Sound: eighties music
Taste: black olives
Smell: roadkilled skunk
Touch: oiled metal

Nimbostratus

There was a man who walked always
with a thundercloud over his head,
a perennial promise of storms to be,
a fictional figure, but you are real

and this is how I remember you always
unsatisfied, always the edge of storms
brewing in you, nothing I could fix, not
with years of trying. It didn't matter what

we shared, the talking politics or history
for hours, listening to Talking Heads
and R.E.M., sharing black olives on pizza,
even feeling the gravitational pull of love

for children born of long dead passion.
Nothing could break that storm cloud,
not even my own reign of tears, acrimony
pleading, prayers. The stink of failure

clung to our marriage like skunky roadkill
and finally when you began to snap,
oiling your guns and making threats
I realized the only person I could change

was me. So I did. I left you and the cloud
that still hovers, that you must have loved
more than me. You even brought it
to my mother's funeral, glaring at me

across the heads of our children.
But that's ok because It's not my cloud
anymore and when I look up
my skies are clear.

Sight: Mountains
Sound: Whisper
Taste: Ice
Smell: Smoke
Touch: Something hot

 

[I_AM_ONE_OF_YOU]

Sight: thunderclouds
Sound: eighties music
Taste: black olives
Smell: roadkilled skunk
Touch: oiled metal

Nimbostratus

There was a man who walked always
with a thundercloud over his head,
a perennial promise of storms to be,
a fictional figure, but you are real

and this is how I remember you always
unsatisfied, always the edge of storms
brewing in you, nothing I could fix, not
with years of trying. It didn't matter what

we shared, the talking politics or history
for hours, listening to Talking Heads
and R.E.M., sharing black olives on pizza,
even feeling the gravitational pull of love

for children born of long dead passion.
Nothing could break that storm cloud,
not even my own reign of tears, acrimony
pleading, prayers. The stink of failure

clung to our marriage like skunky roadkill
and finally when you began to snap,
oiling your guns and making threats
I realized the only person I could change

was me. So I did. I left you and the cloud
that still hovers, that you must have loved
more than me. You even brought it
to my mother's funeral, glaring at me

across the heads of our children.
But that's ok because It's not my cloud
anymore and when I look up
my skies are clear.

Sight: Mountains
Sound: Whisper
Taste: Ice
Smell: Smoke
Touch: Something hot

Whispers in the wilderness.

Amidst the mountains' majestic sight
Snow-capped peaks shining bright in winter's light
A man and a woman, hand in hand, ascend
Their love and warmth, a flame that never ends

The whisper of their hearts, a gentle sound
As they climb higher, their love profound
The crunch of snow beneath their feet
Echoes through the stillness, a sweet retreat

Ice kisses their lips, a fleeting taste
As they pause to gaze, their love in place
Smoke from distant fires, a savory smell
Wafts through the air, their senses to compel

In a secluded cave, they find their nest
A haven from the cold, where love finds rest
Something hot, a fire that burns so bright
Warming their skin, on this winter's night

Together they entwine, in the flickering light
Their love a beacon, shining through the night
The mountains stand guard, a silent sight
As they cherish moments, pure and bright

Their whispers echo, off the snowy walls
Skin to skin, they savor love, that enthralls
In this winter wonderland, they find their peace
A love that's warm, in the cold mountain's release.

♤♡◇♧

Thanks for the lovely challenge @Angeline.

Sight: night empty roads
Sound: crickets
Taste: smoke
Smell: ashes
Touch: frost bite

 

[EllenMore]

Sight: nylon
Sound: rain
Taste: carpet
Smell: pine
Touch: eyes



Scene

Seamed black nylons
and nothing else.
Then the blindfold
presses against my eyes
as if to punish sight,
and I kneel, head down,
wrists tied, lips kissing
the short nap of carpet.
I can hear the slow tick
of a clock, the white noise
of rain on the windowpane.

When I smell the fresh pine
of a newly oiled paddle,
I brace for his first blow.



Scent: wet grass
Sight: the Milky Way
Sound: car tires on gravel
Taste: sweet wine
Touch: upholstery

 

[42Below]

Scent: wet grass
Sight: the Milky Way
Sound: car tires on gravel
Taste: sweet wine
Touch: upholstery

Dirty Upholstery

The sight of your naked trench coat
makes me think of beige wet grass in
a galaxy of stars you are the milky way.

The slam of your door is the sound of my car
tires hitting the gravel.

Smoothing my hair now
my upholstery is sweet wine
turning to vinegar.


Scent: coffee
Sight: liquid
Sound: a drill
Taste: dust
Touch: fingertips

 

[XShadynzX]

Scent: Coffee
Sight:liquid
Sound: a drill
Taste : dust
Touch:fingertips

Fingertips search the contours of
The box that held so many dreams
So many hopes and wishes
Trying to find the secret drawer
The wood warmed by sunlight and memories
I smile when I hear the almost silent click

The taste of dust , thick on my tongue
As the years fly into the air
the lid is finally opened
It's quiet in the attic as I kneel, sorting out the things we kept as reminders
Photos, movie ticket stubs, restaurant menus
All those little things that made up a life, a love

Somewhere outside, the harsh, metallic sound of a drill reminds me why I am clearing this space
Leaving it all , moving to somewhere new,
Making new memories without you beside me

Just then the sound of him calling to me makes me jump
The strong smell of coffee fills the air, rich and warming
I pick up my mug, gazing into the dark liquid I see a reflection of a person I don't remember
Someone who smiles instead of crying
Laughing instead of anger and resentment at losing the person who was my world
I take a sip of the hot drink, place my mug down and slowly, with a kiss of farewell, take each item and place it back where it belongs
In the box of dreams

Sight: stars
Sound: bugle
Taste: citrus
Touch: iron
Scent: lavender

 

[I_AM_ONE_OF_YOU]

Scent: Coffee
Sight:liquid
Sound: a drill
Taste : dust
Touch:fingertips

Fingertips search the contours of
The box that held so many dreams
So many hopes and wishes
Trying to find the secret drawer
The wood warmed by sunlight and memories
I smile when I hear the almost silent click

The taste of dust , thick on my tongue
As the years fly into the air
the lid is finally opened
It's quiet in the attic as I kneel, sorting out the things we kept as reminders
Photos, movie ticket stubs, restaurant menus
All those little things that made up a life, a love

Somewhere outside, the harsh, metallic sound of a drill reminds me why I am clearing this space
Leaving it all , moving to somewhere new,
Making new memories without you beside me

Just then the sound of him calling to me makes me jump
The strong smell of coffee fills the air, rich and warming
I pick up my mug, gazing into the dark liquid I see a reflection of a person I don't remember
Someone who smiles instead of crying
Laughing instead of anger and resentment at losing the person who was my world
I take a sip of the hot drink, place my mug down and slowly, with a kiss of farewell, take each item and place it back where it belongs
In the box of dreams

Sight: stars
Sound: bugle
Taste: citrus
Touch: iron
Scent: lavender

Summer at grandma's house.

"Summer's warmth brings us to her door,
Grandma's house, where memories soar.
Under starry skies, we gather round,
Moonlight shining, stories unbound.

Grandma's tales, like constellations bright,
Guiding us through the night's delight.
Bugles sound, a playful refrain,
Frontyard adventures, joyous and plain.

Lemonade's citrus zing, a refreshing treat,
Quenching thirst, can't be beat.
Laughter echoes, as we play and roam,
Pumping iron, in a playful tone.

As we leave, a lingering scent remains,
Lavender's gentle whisper, grandma's loving refrains.
Memories of summer, forever in our hearts,
Grandma's love is a shining work of art."

♤♡◇♧

Thanks for this lovely challenge- @XShadynzX

Sight: campfire

Sound: burning flames

Taste: hot water

Touch: burns

Scent: ashes

 

[puddle_girl]

Sight: campfire

Sound: burning flames

Taste: hot water

Touch: burns

Scent: ashes

I saw your eyes
through the campfire
staring at me
with a smirk of playfulness.
I am not fond of burning flames that snap and reach for my body.
Nor the linger of charred ashes
left as blistered burns upon my skin.
Your eyes however,
your eyes,
with an understood intent,
drown me fast
and rake upon me like these scorched embers.
I wince
from the heat of my sex,
trapped like hot water in a jar.
Salted, slick and simmering.

Can you read my eyes?
They pulse with an answer
to the question
in yours.




Sight: trees
Sound: crows
Taste: meat
Touch: grass
Scent: woods

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight: trees
Sound: crows
Taste: meat
Touch: grass
Scent: woods

The Gallery

long-stemmed, in variances, people's foliage a colorful assortment
it's hard to spot a single plant in this ever-moving forest of glasses
a breeze of moods bends the glorious treetops in another direction

somewhere in there, a larch waiting for me to lean on​

​

whisper and banter spirals around the territorial audience, low first
sent to postal heights with the outbreak of cawing laughter, shaken
plumage, decorum becomes loose, ruffled feathers fall to the ground

underneath, listen closely to my robin's welcome song​

aromas sit on the tongue, their footprints heavy and salted between
buds and throaty remarks, thumbed and indexed the tiny pieces slip
from plates fatally seasoned down the palates of mouthy cavemen

the flesh of your trembling lips alive between my teeth​

​

smooth silk and cool cotton brush away the night on my skin, I flee
with you on my tracks, the daylight of some undecorated wallpaper
pressed into me, only your picture hangs in front of me, you'd cut

the grassy straps of my dress into my shoulder blades​

​

all the salmon and champagne breaths of a minute ago left behind
stolen roses, cibet and oranges extracted from our olfactory organs
curiosity draws in what evaporates on my neck, an appetent embrace

of smoked pine and cedar curls the roots in my sandals​

​

all senses auctioned to you, who in this showroom cares what we do
in a corner, just like that, I feel like art in your arms, far from idle chat
we busy ourselves with generous touches, some sights yet unseen myth

~~~~~~

scent: freshly washed
sight: something opened
sound: some singing
taste: awfully tasty
touch: feathery