smells are a voiceless cry
the smell of death
nags the living
while the stink of urine
on a busy street corner
calls to city managers
fumes from old books,
a turn-on to an intellectual

when my hands smell of dog
i feel like i'm home

the familiar whispering sound
of my mother's rough feet
scraping through panty hose
conjures an image of a little girl
tip-toeing in oversized red pumps
while layers of white noise
lull me into a deaf sleep
until the silence becomes
too loud and too close
and i wake

the din of my fast beating heart
creates timeless tension,
releasing fresh adrenaline

i didn't know what a kiss was
until i felt alien lips
collide with mine
the taste of this other person
called up no memories in me
until the next lip locked
so it was a pleasant reminder
of the kiss before
and somehow the complexities and joys of food
were more greatly appreciated
between my lips

my mouth is the animal in me
and has only a sensual memory

the nose brings back places i've been
and the ear things i've seen
or imagined
while the memory of the mouth
makes me relive the moment
from the point of view of my taste buds

07/25/2011

Posted on 07/26/2011
Copyright © 2024 Amy Manning