The 5 Senses Poem Challenge

[Remec]

sight-a pet
Sound- alarm
Scent- geranium
Taste- something unpleasant
Touch- a lighter

Overnight Stay

Woke up and thought of Lucy and Snoopy,
Nice of Freddy the Labrador to rouse me from sleep,
and totally on time, too, since the alarm went off
mere moments after I got the closest thing to a
canine French kiss that I ever want to encounter,
Man, I thought those doggy treats were supposed to
help with this breath, not to make it all floral--like geranium blossoms or
something, just better than to be expected--but
with a tongue that tastes like that,
I'm not so sure they're working;
I sat up as best I could and reached for my phone,
but the first thing I found on the nightstand was a cheap Bic,
Which worked well, since I could have used a smoke just then,
And a drink too. Really was gonna be a day.

---

sight: a game
sound: metal on metal
scent: smoke
touch: something grimy
taste: bitterness

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Working Girl

It’s Saturday, a busy night
for girls on the game.
Her heels ring out on the
subway grid, metal on metal.
She likes the assertive sound,
even though it means a costly
visit to the cobbler.
In the bitter cold, her breath
billows like smoke and she
hunches deeper into faux fur.
A car stops beside her, high-end
but grimy. A moment of hesitation,
knowing every rendezvous could
be her last.
But he is a regular so she gratefully
joins him in the steamy warmth.

sight – The Eiffel Tower
sound – screeching tires
scent – rotting fish
touch – fine lace
taste – cookie dough

 

[butters]

Sight-traffic lights
Sound- sirens
Scent- cinnamon
Taste- sugary drink
Touch- fingers crushing into your palm

No.4 reactor

back in '86
before the sirens
traffic lights gaily blinked
directing traffic

and i remember your gaze
as you breathed in the view
static ferris wheel
huge and vital
like a wonder of the world
waiting to be opened to the paying public

how cinnamon wafted on the air
from fast food stalls
and the sweet tang of spotykach
warmed my mouth
a flavour i can no longer stomach

the wheel still stands
decaying as the decades pass
never ridden
except perhaps on spectral nights
by ghosts of those we lost
as i lost you

and if i stare long enough
if i listen hard enough
i can almost hear its music
but the only fingers crushing into my palm
are my own



sight: plastic dragon
sound: chink of china
taste: soured milk
touch: sinews of a horse
scent: wild onions

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight-cleaning products
Sound- fan
Scent- wet cement
Touch- gritty
Taste- food

~~~

Plans keep melting like ice cream
the sweet taste lasts for a minute
the bitter calories stay for a life time

Licking the spoon
lunch break with childhood dreams
the apron not so much a ballerina's tutu
this kitchen not so much hers

abrasive, brush, cloth
the ABC of shine waiting at arm's length
the smell of busy construction like fog
you can't see through, but everywhere
the adorable suburbanian home yet an illusion

If it just was the future of her
after lead-filled streets
the mosquito-infested woods
and clawing through sand and grit
the Great River not the last barrier
here in the land of someone's dreams

Chasing behind, forever
like a Patriots' fan in 2007
no matter how hard
how fair you played
in the end, the dreaded end
silent sobs driving home
because you've seen it come

~~~

special challenge, all 5 senses: coffee - without using the word 'coffee'

 

[Mrtenant]

~~~


special challenge, all 5 senses: coffee - without using the word 'coffee'

Cool early morning
When the world holds its breath
Stepping out on the porch
Swirling fog all around
She refills my empty mug
Smiling her good morning
As lovely as ever
How blessed am I
Bubbling music
Hot brew filling ceramic
Raising it to my lips
Sipping the steaming hot java
Familiar singeing heat
Its color a perfect deep brown
Bitter and yet satisfying
Aroma of earthen goodness
And then the first ray of sunlight
Shines forth from the horizon
Brilliant and fine
Accompanied by a choir of birdsong
And still my eyes
Are only for her
Who fills my heart


Sight- Rainbow
Smell- Rain
Taste- Mint
Touch- Hair
Sound- Dog barking

 

[Lyricalli]

sight-some one running
Sound- air horn
Scent-candle burning
taste- honey or something really sweet
Touch- sticky

Sometimes, I still feel the racing of your pulse
under my fingers
hear the ba-bump, ba-bump quicken
my ear to your chest
fingers researching secret places
that made you catch a breath
and wonder if your heart hammered that hard
every time you'd run
set in motion by a horn blast in your head
I never heard

How well I know the contours of your back
the warmth of vanilla
turning to the acrid end of a wick
because you never light a candle
unless you're going to let it burn
all the way out

Still, you remained honey to me
irresistible, sweet
returning a familiar mystery
nectar reflecting your journeys
and passage of time
I craved the syrup
in my hands
my eyes locked to yours
savoring each digit
knowing my sticky grasp
isn't strong enough to hold
when the siren sounds



Sight- a constellation
Smell- breakfast
Taste- soft
Touch- something cracked
Sound- shower

 

[Lyricalli]

Sight -stars
Sound- train whistle
Scent- roses
taste - salt
touch - feather

We frolicked under Orion's belt
while I fiddled with yours
eager for the unbuckling
but savoring the anticipation
and the salt of your sweat-damp neck
the insistence of your lips
wild roses perfumed the gently humid night
an unheard growl vibrated
through your chest as the train whistled by
featherlight fingertips that made me shiver
transformed into an urgent grip
that lead to grass stains on my knees
random bits of nature in my hair
and an irrepressible grin
every time I pass that field


Sight - horizon
Smell - nostalgia
Taste - bland
Touch - yourself
Sound - night

 

[Lyricalli]

Sound- back ground conversation
Sight-mountains
Scent-herbs
Touch-scar tissue
Taste- acidic

Bite into a lime wedge
sitting in the din of the bar
that fades to silence in my revery
remembering when you were the salt
I chased with tequila

My tongue still remembers the textures
of your skin
the way some scars were raised
some concave
and how I watched mini mountain ranges appear
when I teased just so

Breathing in rum and mint
in the midst of my hundred closest friends
the only thing I hear
are conversations we never had
playing out in my head
while sipping a second mojito


Sight - pier
Smell - coconut
Taste - coffee
Touch - lukewarm
Sound - radio

 

[Angeline]

Sight-moon
Sound-drums
Taste- chocolate
Touch- silk
Smell- oranges

How can the moon be so lonely
surrounded by all those stars,
planets whirling in a cosmic dance,
galaxies too numerous to count
and all their moons like sad faces
waiting for dawn's rescue?

Down here it's livelier. I don't even
have to look up. The moonlight
covers me silver silk on my silky
skin. I'm livelier tonight, loopy
and loony as night's orb, spinning
to my peculiar drumbeat.

My personal moon is in my hands,
a chocolate orange, my favorite treat!
I'll savor it, segment by segment
and sweetly ponder my waning phases.


Sight: doll
Sound: creaky step
Scent: soap
Taste: rain
Touch: skin

 

[Remec]

Sight -Books
Sound-birds
Scent -pine forest
Touch-dust
Taste -sugar

WIP

Works in progress seem to be
the very heart of stories of my life,
the latest was a duo as the rental
was in the process of renovation;
Even in the library, with all the floor-to-ceiling
shelving simply jam-packed with all
the types of books you could imagine, the
odor of the Pine-sol made it seem you
were in a real forest, not a cut and bound
forest of paper and ink and thick leather,
and I would sit before empty screens,
blank paper, trying not to touch the dusty surfaces
too often, and thinking I needed to go back
to making my own tea that would taste
of tea instead of warm sugar water with a touch of
milk that someone waved tea leaves over,
but it was fine since the feeder outside the
main window was always so full of the cutest
little birds--maybe chickadees or titmice--I
think they shall be decent muses,
eventually.

---

sight: flowers
sound: noises of surprise
scent: pipe or cigar smoke
taste: peaches
touch: something goosebumpy

 

[29wordsforsnow]

sight: flowers
sound: noises of surprise
scent: pipe or cigar smoke
taste: peaches
touch: something goosebumpy

The swinging curves of dear Miss Daisy
were not meant for the eyes of the lazy
in the doorframe on the fifth floor's landing
the ink on her skin never stopped bending
almost unwrapped in a negligee of bottle green
the six feet plus temptress thickly clad in nicotine
waited there, wild speculation on her forehead
what lovely flower I had brought for her bed.

The sheet of paper fell, her voice reached high
sheer pleasure in her cheer, most wonderful sigh
the small bouquet in hand, she said, "I never had
a more innocent Rose or such a splendid Violet."

Still on their way up, on about the thirty-first stair
two beauties invited to this strangest love affair
their elegant strides rose from floor to floor
with each step the hostess' smile grew evermore
obviously her body reacted, turned preheated
finally then, "So, you'd be Rose," she greeted
the one elegantly dressed in the color of cream
paleskin, auburn hair, every English man's dream.

In her wake, a close-to-fainting coquette
darker than the most delicious chocolate
crowned by curls and clad in deep purple
embroidered with the opulence of myrtle.

Seated amusement plus a carafe of port
Miss Daisy offered a taste of her orange hoard
these fruit of velvet, so soft, sweet and ripe
reserved for the ones of her favored type
juicy, sweet and easily falling under her spell
who loosened the bows I never could tell
but soon enough the party is freed of their peel
laid down on the bed and challenged to squeal.

My gaze meets Miss Daisy's, a fat cat's grin
a futile attempt to rub the chill off my skin
when she bellows, "Sit, and don't even dare!"
I'm ordered to stay in my creaking old chair.

Hundreds of minutes right after the dusk
the trio of sweetness wallowed in lust
fed by the skill of their hostess' tongue
not caring to tell the right from the wrong
they wolfed down each of the tendered slices
full-flavored now with their own flow of spices
and bath in the sound of their melodic laughter
that turns more vocal, and primal soon after.

Not sooner than her guests were asleep
she beckoned me close, and in one big leap
my thirsty lips within her fingers' reach
enlightened - at last! - by the taste of peach.

scent: Spring
sight: road sign
sound: cracking
taste: salt
touch: hair

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Sight : Dolls
Sound: Waves
Smell : burnt sugar
Taste: Lemons
Touch: Wool

What else could we do?

The upbeat play of the sudden rain
the tin roof turned into a steel drum
our cotton and lycra swim at the door

What else than...

wear the scratchy sweaters from Norway,
last year another vacation nearby the sea
maybe because we're both Aquarius?

What's the time...

to wait for crème brûlée? Meanwhile
the small stove warms our legs
a Tequila shot our insides

What kind of glint...

is in your eyes as you inhale my finger deeply
the lemon taste mixes well with the caramel smell
slowly burning our passionate looks because

What else can you do...

in the minutes, half-dressed, hungry & heated
while the crashing waves provide the rhythm
than turn the landlady's dolls on the shelve

No audience, please.

Scent: Lavender
Sight: a button undone
Sound: clock ticks
Taste: Sherry
Touch: stubble

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

cent: Lavender
Sight: a button undone
Sound: clock ticks
Taste: Sherry
Touch: stubble



Sherry

The scent of lavender
always reminds me of visits
to my elderly aunt when I was a boy.

Sitting upright in the gloom.
No slouching!
Knobbly knees pressed
tightly together, listening
to the clock as time passed
too slowly.

Lavender with an undertone
of stale urine, doubtless the
reason for my reticence.

But you, with your tousled
hair and that one button,
loosened by the tension
of your shirt between
your breasts make me want you.

You who tells me my seven-o-clock
shadow is attractive, can wear
lavender and still, I want you.



Scent: coffee
Sight: rope
Sound: catfight
Taste: mint
Touch: silk

 

[29wordsforsnow]

Scent: coffee
Sight: rope
Sound: catfight
Taste: mint
Touch: silk

Hello Sunshine

The lead upon my fighting lids
loses ground and when it slips
the curtains mock, 'it's pretty late'
I feel my feet catch all the weight
covered by a hint of oh-so-smooth
a tiny ruined rag unable to move
my former cocoon of privacy
lost in the mirror so I can see
a hundred cubits of premium rope
suit me so well and zero my scope

Did you task yourself to sit and watch
this sweaty crisscrossed hodgepodge
in the dark or dawn you pondered to go
the pale coffee smell says an hour or so
who knows, spearmint cover your tracks
dental floss blocks what asked for sex
cuddles and spooning on Sunday night
later on each groan a refreshing bite
but none left to pick the dirt from your mouth
words of no use outside this whore's house

Where walls are thin and love is within
next door screams and yells in Mandarin
Jas and Lotus, both like a fierce feline
their morning routine seems right on time
it's not the high pitches of Chapter Three
it's what's coming next that bothers me
reconciliation, I guess, five minutes from now
the timer's reflection runs comparably low
a cord crawls from there to the magic wand
I doubt you programmed just one happy end

scent: lilac
sight: red
sound: wings
taste: exotic
touch: cushions

 

[Voboy]

Sound:gypsy music
Taste: strawberries
Sight: Gold
Scent: lavender
Touch: leather

Sun-drenched trellises droop,
Pregnant with fat strawberries
Waiting for a child's fingers
On the verandah.

The light is golden now, in June,
With wafting breezes tripping
Through beds of lavender
On the verandah.

An old man tends the plants there,
Skin shriveled as old leather
Under countless summers, all spent
On the verandah,

But there's magic in his hands.
For after his work is done, he'll play
Haunting Django-chords for the listeners
On the verandah.

***

Sound: a cat, hissing
Taste: peaches
Sight: shadows
Scent: woodsmoke
Touch: an unshaven chin

 

[Angeline]

[Scent: Freshly mown lawn
Taste: grapes
Sound: crickets
Sight: picnic tables
Touch: rose petals]

Hobart Avenue, Long Ago

Saturday and the the air is vegetal,
green and earthy. Gas mowers buzz,
push mowers roll and squeak.
Children shout, skip, swing. They drift
from road to sidewalk
when the occasional car passes.

Down the block two girls
sell lemonade, plastic pitcher,
and cups arrayed on a picnic table,
5¢ a drink, a bargain: free lawn
chair seating and knock-knock jokes
included.

It's late July: everyone sweats.

Not me. I'm cool, quiet
and composed in a shaded arbor
Daddy built in the side yard.
I'm hidden, curled on a green bench,
surrounded by climbing roses, thorny
tumbles of petals, red yellow pink creamy
and delicate, soft as silk.

It may be Saturday on the block,
but right here it's timeless,
a private world of fairy tales: giants, swans,
match girls, ballerinas, tin soldiers
fill my head, my inner vision
is whirling, fantastical, interrupted

only by the cool sweetness
of the grapes I'm eating,
the errant chirp of a cricket,
the briefest pause

as I turn the page.


Sight: water
Sound: bird
Scent: smoke
Taste: salt
Touch: something smooth

 

[butters]

Sight: water
Sound: bird
Scent: smoke
Taste: salt
Touch: something smooth


a single black vulture
laughs at its fortune—
the glut of belly-up fish
that taste of tidal incursion
as lowlands glisten
sink lower
renew invitations
to a rising Atlantic
*
crops wilt
blacken
drown
*
full beyond measure
it hops atop a smooth boulder
a great, egg-shaped affair
a third buried in mud
spreads wings to dry
casts dim shadows
beneath a disc that hangs
orange
suspended
in resinous air




sight: a parachute
sound: song "Those were the days, my friend..."
taste: bile
touch: a child's hand
smell: vanilla

 

[29wordsforsnow]

sight: a parachute
sound: song "Those were the days, my friend..."
taste: bile
touch: a child's hand
smell: vanilla

Mirror, mirror on the nail
tell Alice one more fairy tale

It was one dear June afternoon
the sun was bright, not downing soon

When from the sky a child so cute
fell with a dress on as if a parachute

She fell and fell and landed soft
on shoulders wide and now aloft

A scream rose up at the small girl's touch
and all she could do was tightly clutch

In a game of checkers - or draughts if you're British
she'd landed on a piece that was rather skittish

The maiden token beneath felt suddenly a Queen
to cross the board as no one had ever seen

Jumping and leaping from square to square
it was a dream at first but turned a nightmare

Her mouth now dry, feeling the bitter taste of bile
the girl stepped down, "Please, excuse me for a while"

On the sideline, she sat down
next to the maid and her broken crown

Smiling sweetly with a fragrance of vanilla
her lips escaped the voice of the Scylla

Singing that famous tune, the lyrics slightly bent
You know the Powers us you lent
We thought they'd never end
For that homewards you'll be send

And like that, her eyes did close
on the board, a sudden wind arose

The dress again an able parachute
sent the perplexed girl back en route

In the midsummer Sunday's aftergloom
Alice woke up in her own playing room

"Oh such a weird dream," she finished her nap
but with great bewilderment, she looked at her lap

A piece of a crown, bitten off like it was a biscuit
she found the reality now excitingly twisted

As yet it was not about dinnertime
having one more sample wouldn't be a crime

All you grown-up children, let's pretend
Those were the days, my friend...

(currently reading Through The Looking-Glass)

Scent: cheese
Sight: candlelight
Sound: thunder
Taste: sour
Touch: hair

 

[Angeline]

[Scent: cheese
Sight: candlelight
Sound: thunder
Taste: sour
Touch: hair]


Spring Is Here

In the uncertain Spring
of the far Northeast we dined
while lightning streaked
the road, flashing over the golf course,
thunder crashing like cymbals,
close enough for us to make
discomfited Zeus jokes,
uncertain laughter shared
with candlelight,
bites of brie and sour cherry
preserves.

When the power came back
Bill Evans played and Spring Is Here
poured forth, delicate
and deliberate,
so I swayed in your arms
and you held me
like flowers;
you made me feel
like flowers.

When you touched
my hair, stroked your big hands
down its length, our tongues tipped
to each other and our bodies
pressed close, holding nothing
but Yes.



Sight: fireflies aka lightning bugs
Sound: bells
Scent: river
Taste: something sweet
Touch: grass

 

[EllenMore]

Sometime During My Internship in Austin

we drove north from the city
into the hills. Then turned down
an ill-used track

that really worked the shocks
on Jan's truck until
we came to the river,

which was running slow, as if dreaming
of the approaching summer.
We stripped down

and swam naked, like seals
intoxicated by the water's clean scent
or the fact of each other's bodies.

Later, we lay on the damp grass,
limp from the heat,
and almost kissed

but, instead, I took a sip
of her chilled Sauternes and laughed
and mussed her short hair

to show that we were simply friends.
As it grew dark, we heard bells,
their peals wafting

over us like evening clouds
that seemed to summon the wandering lights
of fireflies, as if angels

were weaving overhead, watching over us,
making sure
that all we finally did was hold hands.



Sight: an empty street
Sound: firecrackers or gunshots
Taste: something smoky, like barbecue, bourbon, or cigarettes
Smell: an acrid scent, like acetone or something similar
Touch: metal

 

[Remec]

Sight :Ocean
Sound: Thunder
Taste : Melon
Touch: Wood
Scent: Ozone

Hurricane Watch

I take another sip of the cocktail
she'd had sent up by the pitcher from
room service, sweet in that almost
cloying, syrupy way that any melon
besides watermelon tends to have;

Swallowing it down as I wander across the room,
hands running a finger along each
horizontal surface, letting the real wood lend
me stability and stength as I make it to
the sliding glass and onto the balcony;

Picturing the map I'd seen on the weather report,
I orient myself to look out past the clutter of
hotels, eateries, and tourist traps and just stare
at the ocean, letting the rumble of the storm
take the place of crashing foam, even as
the lingering bits of lightning strikes stand in
for the scent of salt that should be in the air.

---

scent: cheap perfume
sight: curves
sound: steady beat
touch: cashmere
taste: bubblegum

 

[29wordsforsnow]

scent: cheap perfume
sight: curves
sound: steady beat
touch: cashmere
taste: bubblegum

Bending like a snake and guarded by an ageless army of conifers
the one-way street draped onto the luxurious slopes of Mt Grim
is a dead end. Admiring the sinuously bent necklace on this body
of green that took us here, the olfactory insult of the brummagem
imitation of Harper's Bear Attractant, a lure only for another horde
of stinging insects, mixes poorly with the artificial flavor of the week
Tweedledeedum's Humble Rum Bubblegum, distantly exotic unlike
the second-best love-sick weary of life, his heartbeat a siren song
for the forest beast that won't ever come. God, another one I have
to bore to death. Smoothing my cashmere sweater, I start thinking
about the worst intro to this August night - soon freezing as hell
but who am I to tell - anecdotes that will leave an iced heart cold,
the tales of an aged couple, the antidote to his romantic feelings.
Eroded dreams, bleached promises, white lies to save our lives.
My Dahlia's last goodbye on the day we tied the knot, fully aware
this goddamn rock tends to leave a mountain guide's bed vacant.

scent: cherries
sight: lipstick
sound: rustling
taste: honey
touch: hot

 

[Winter_Fare]

scent: cherries
sight: lipstick
sound: rustling
taste: honey
touch: hot

Baby kissed off my lipstick
Smudged it all up on my cheek
Heat of her mouth is poison
It's her honey makes me weak

Overhead is the blue sky
Bare bones of the sleeping trees
Gold on the ground that whispers
To the busy centipedes

I can still smell the summer
Decaying beneath my feet
Cherries slide and slip their skin
As they rot their scent is sweet

scent: bleach
sight: closed curtains
sound: footsteps
taste: tea
touch: metal

 

[Angeline]

scent: bleach
sight: closed curtains
sound: footsteps
taste: tea
touch: metal
********************
The Last Day

Before I left I sat
in the rocker on the front porch,
sipping a cup of Lady Grey tea
and looking at the hanging baskets
with their leaves swaying in the breeze
as if keeping time with the wind chimes.
All are gifts from you, all are ways
we made a home of this little house
that we loved at first sight.

You said it was the best place
you'd lived and I agreed, no
not because it's palatial (it isnt)
or in the perfect location though,
God knows, these mountains are lovely,
inducing serenity simply by standing
green, hazy blue and stoic. No
it was the best because we were
here together, because we were
here in love.

I set my mug down on the glass
and metal table, run my fingers
over the whorls of its curvy legs.
You chose this too, made a place
on the porch where I could sit,
read and dream because you
know what I like.

I'm leaving it all here for whoever
comes next. There's no room for any
of it in the van that will carry me
back north.

Now the curtains are all closed,
the rooms shining clean, faintly
redolent of bleach and pine oil.
You won't hear my footsteps
walking away as I leave, but that
doesn't matter: I carry you with me,
in my heart wherever I go.

********************
scent: caramel
sight: bright lights
sound: voices
taste: sugar
touch: flesh

 

[29wordsforsnow]

scent: caramel
sight: bright lights
sound: voices
taste: sugar
touch: flesh

~~~~~~~~~~~

Kai Piranha

How could I betray her?

It's a favor for a favor.​

At the soft opening of this cocktail bar, his silky thin
last piece of male dignity tattled loudly into my nose
her Bailey's-ed breath still a heavy cloud upon him
shorts slid down, intensified, and her tongue froze
upon half a drop of viscous cream still there, a whim
made me let her have him, before me, the first dose
too fast to be a real performance, anything but prim
for the dozen millionaires watching where this goes.

I squeeze tight

take just a little bite.​

Lemon juice dripped down upon the swaying peak
its sides, soon a sour soil, glared in the bright lights
as I seeded cane sugar, and no one dared to speak
but watch, in this most advantageous of all nights,
the filthy rich purple head be crowned by a sleek
sweet edge, but even though I lacked marital rights
my lips longed to coat this prize for a complete week
with the hint of Cachaça, my drinking days' last rites

I drink him in, but foremost

I have him on toast.​

A tricksy cube of ice cooled my attempt to smother
myself with the demerara-laced piece of man-flesh
caught in my throat with his pants down, or rather
his defense, out of options, deep inside the mesh
of our eyes, hers and mine, that found each other
a mouthful, her question in my ear still so fresh
"I do anything, but can you be our surrogate mother"
she'd agreed to my terms, without batting an eyelash

Twenty fortnights and a happy end

my time spent for a friend.​

The moment for everyone, but me, to have a drink
and raise their glass, on this month's most fertile
I was their vessel to sip from, a tumbler ready to sink
onto the straight-up emotions on display for a while
Yes, I'm a deliberate act with a very special kink
run over with liquor and lips, see, that's my style
all across myself my letters licked, written in ink
a dictum that keeps me afloat: go down with a smile

Two people rocking

some find it shocking.​

Somewhere in between the sound of the moistest
dance on a volcano, the waves crashing enervated
our fall upward the pleasant top, the many voices
hushed, pointed, in the corners they reverberated
I almost broke - because it's only about the choices
we made - the rhythm; but it wasn't the degenerated
malevolence I loathed, but their reflecting noises
the dirty talk I loved to eavesdrop, as we accelerated

Fingers crossed, their ride

brought sisters to my side.​

~~~~~~~~~~~

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