The Senses

Dust falling on your nose. The smooth, redness of a rose. A ponytail gripping your wrist. The frustration of necklaces in a twist. Some senses are calm, others burning. A raindrop falls and I find myself yearning. Yearning is a sense too. A tingling and shaking, that is true. There are a million senses. Some behind fences. Some not for the weak. Others that we do seek. We get a taste, and then it fades. The senses are how we count the days. A scar sparkling like jade. And just like that, the pain fades.