Kristin Reynolds Poets Poet 4

A Sense of Diamonds
To hear me would sound like a symphony of octaves –
played all at once with concrete fingers
on diamond in the rough strings.

To see me…O’, to see me you would have to turn,
ever so slightly sideways, to ensure proper exposure –
one would not wish to either scar his or her retinas

with too much light; or murder their spirits with silky
raven on a moonless night, darkness. No, no. That 
is far too much for the eyes to bear.

To touch me would be like dipping warm fingertips into 
a pool of liquid mercury; like the sun’s rays beneath 
the water, touching the ocean’s deepest silver depths.

The scent of me would bring your waiting nose to a
dichotomy of frenzy – one side wanton, and as eager 
as a schoolboy with a playboy – but the other side!

The other nostril would shrivel under scrutiny; buckle under 
the burning scent of disgust and unrefined madness, as if you 
were smelling your own death, not the florid scent of Eden. 

And to taste me…to taste me would leave the tongue 
as twisted as a winter apple’s branches; as torn as a wool 
tartan from the shoulder’s of a traitor; and as confused

as a year without Spring. To taste me would be like
tasting every dream you ever lusted, and every ending
that ever broke you – like sipping lemonade in the void.

But…if you are the one; the only one in the midst of all
this impenetrable chaos who can sense me, beyond 
the average man’s malleable stone-walled borders –

than I bid you come. Test the likes of this diamond
against your rough-hewn backdrop – try me on for size; 
see if you have the stones to not. Get. Cut.

appreciationverse

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