Thoughts on the senses

Smells,
constantly interwoven
with past memories,
connecting what I know
with current preoccupations.
Subtlety is the Nose's middle name.
Eyes consume center stage,
though constantly forgetting to focus
on the unseen.
Smells clinging to me like dust on static ridden trampolines.

Touch.
Overlooked.
Currently the fine ground pieces of a once living tree
and the soft interwoven fibers of the cotton plant.
Difficult to put into this bank of words
what touch is.
It focuses me in to the intricacies of the earth.
It allows me to know what, otherwise, I could not have known.
We touch the things that cannot talk;
their only form of communication is texture.

Taste.
Savagery.
The bits of flesh and blood we put on our tongues,
we enter their very essence.
(perhaps the lure of cannibalism)
Knowing them not just physically, but chemically.
Tricks and treats,
they lend to us an indescribable pleasure.
Dances held upon our tongue.
Acid lingers, like a sheen of rainbow on the belly of a bubble.
Milk soothes like a plush blanket on frozen skin.
Sucking these substances of their essence
to use as our own.
Coffee feels energized constantly.
We feel it only as long as it's essence
lingers in our bodies.

We do have a sixth sense,
all that goes on within.
Still physical,
but locked away.
We feel
from the cells that keep us awake.

Hearing is a different story all together.
Inflection
Tone
Language at every corner.
The wind speaks.
The rain speaks.
The animals speak.
The earth speaks.
Every sound is a form of comprehensible language.
We take them all in,
and intuitively interpret their meaning.
Waves
that crash upon our bones,
our very own seashores and cliff sides.
Absorbing some, bouncing some back.
Pitch and frequencies
thrown into open air.
Contemplate: what collides with us and what does not?
What drifts and drifts
never hitting anything at all?

Sight.
Taken for granted.
Obvious yet not.
Often pushing past most.
I have a hard time with sight,
it doesn't quite catch my (inner) eye quite enough.
I dwell on the inside.
Sight always creeps on the outside.
Don't get me wrong
not that I don't like to see,
but most of what I am
lives inside of me.