I want to see pinhole lights in the night tapestry
and be unable to escape the inevitable starstruck.
Craving spicy tastes that consume my inspirational palette
my plate seems so pregnant with unconsumed flavours.
Each lingering scent wafting through my memory
brings momentary flashes that echo recollection.
I want unshackled freedom for my intrinsic senses
possessing only what is granted an experience.
Yet within the poignantless grasp, fingers learn to slip,
and be unable to reach out and catch simple sensations.
The defiant five conspiring and complaining.

 

11:05 pm
28 February 2012

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