Sensed

moth-to-a-flame

(source)

Recognised by footfall on the stairway
A sneeze, a cough, a laugh, all known so well
Out of sight and yet still seen in mind’s eye
Who is there, the sounds alone may tell

Identified at distance by an outline
A shape, a shrug, a slouch, a gait, or more
Virtually unseen and yet acknowledged
As one encountered often times before

Scent upon the wind that clings in mem’ries
A perfume, fragrant grass, tanged forest spice
Faint souvenirs long gone and yet they linger
Bouquets recalled, recaptured, that entice

 A citrus thought reclining in a heatwave
Taste buds triggered, juiced by orange skin
A salivated riposte to stored mind grove
Yet dimpled drouth is merely quenched within

A blindfold quest exploring tactile secrets
Silk, satin, fur, evocative to touch
Discovery in tangible and tested
Speculated thrill in knowing such

A jolt from sleep, a voice within a dreamscape
A shrilling phone that stimulates unease
Clouded signs and signals looped in memos
Disquietude in gut that’s unappeased

A fiery flame, a finger, the temptation
What is known and what’s been felt or learned
A myriad of means and useful methods
Why then, with common sense, are hands still burned

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