deepundergroundpoetry.com
senses pentet
scent
most ancient lure:
first sign of any danger…
or of any prey.
sound
listen for the signs.
her moans and pulse and breathing
are bliss's clockwork.
sight
'i's crossed, 't's dotted,
the filling in of details…
icing on the cake.
touch
fingers arc the gap:
galvanizing to the flesh,
quick'ning to the soul.
taste
the musk of desire.
the sweetness of submission.
the sharp tang of fear…
most ancient lure:
first sign of any danger…
or of any prey.
sound
listen for the signs.
her moans and pulse and breathing
are bliss's clockwork.
sight
'i's crossed, 't's dotted,
the filling in of details…
icing on the cake.
touch
fingers arc the gap:
galvanizing to the flesh,
quick'ning to the soul.
taste
the musk of desire.
the sweetness of submission.
the sharp tang of fear…
Published 22nd May 2010
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22nd May 2010 7:42am
Anonymous
29th May 2010 8:06pm
I don't know all the intricacies of your craft, but I admire it's feel nonetheless. This poem glides over the reader, and it's visceral nature has an almost soothing quality, as you tell a whole story through the simple description of senses. I especially enjoyed the phrase "bliss' clockwork."
