Senses
I have other senses.
Flourishing hairs on the move.
Streaks of something other than sight.
Ground up unlike any scent.
Sneaky brush strokes.
Like cinnamon sparks it unfolds.
Like hearing except more of a jumping spider that I shadow.
Cryptic.
I have other senses.
The accident felt like globules.
I knew like a shoe knows the worm it crushed unintentionally.
The accident might have been almost, somewhat in my senses.
Disbelief.
I have other senses.
That attach to me like:
Burning hot sauce.
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