Poetry looks like vibrant colors and flashing lights, bold and pastel contrasting designs. It looks like the insides of my gut and mind. All of the beauty and the profane alike.
Poetry tastes like honey thick and sweet. Consuming my senses as I eat. Residual bitterness fills my mouth. Tasting the essence of sunshine and clover as the nectar drizzles down.
Poetry smells like fresh cut grass, home cooking, and his cologne. It wreaks of diaper pails and of sweat and blood. A cloudy day and the rain that’s to come.
Poetry feels like the wind on a summer day or during a winter storm. Stinging my face or making me warm. The breath of the earth blowing from her corners. Around and back again.
Poetry sounds like a starry night or the haunting sound of a violin’s cry. A child’s laugh or a listless sigh. Birds chirping in the morning…A wolf’s howl to the moon. A traffic jam with honking cars. The bee’s buzzing at high noon.
It is life as it moves subtly or profound. Engulfing my senses. Melodic in sound. Vibrating through my being. Traveling through time. Everything is poetic dew drops from the divine.
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