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.
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