2/7/12

Sensory Admiration
By Jessica Thompson


And with all the pandemonium surrounding me in this array of a world,
Your voice pierces the shadows.
Attempt to distort by the sound of a million jet engines, in the dead silence of a plane,
I think it would sound the same.

There are colors. They appeal to and are perceived by the sensitive retina of an eye,
But these only mirror you.
The color of your skin isn’t an inferior reflection, imperfect, changing.
It’s constant, unmistakable.

Touch a piece of broken glass and sense a tear, darkened blood quietly flows,
Too soft a blanket is uncomfortable.
But to stroke your hand, to feel the perfect tips of your well-worn fingers,
Is to caress the essence of the earth.

Your surrounding air has it’s own delicate flavor. I breathe, and can taste it.
It fills my lungs.
The sweetest berry wouldn’t register on my taste buds once you’ve been around.
All others dull over time.

People apply artificial scents to their bodies, believing it to be attractive,
But you have no need.
You have your own natural smell, one that stows in the mind for decades.
Previously unknown.

Close enough to sense your heart beat, my own speeds up.
Accelerated motion.
Caused only by your presence.


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Jessica Thompson is an emerging writer that has had work featured in publications such as The Talon and Heavy Hands Ink. She spends her time dancing, writing, drinking coffee, and taking in the beauty of life. She believes in love, heartbreak, and contemplation, but not regret.