The corona of light is wrapped in cellophane. Initially hard to touch, it relents then, crumbly and dissolving like great sex – orgasmic like the tremble of white snow. My wind pipe that is coated with craving, fibres of yearning like hairs of anemones in water, waving and alert to touch, goes breathless with pinches of snuff. Obsessively I rub the sin of sensation on my palms and pass my tongue over the grains, they grate at my throat like cluster of consonants, choke and give me a high at the same time: sins always do it and so does lust. I do not have to pick every sound that floats in the air, tune every vibration to music, and frame in my vision a lamp waiting to be lit.

Day 11 – NaPoWriMo
Write a poem of five senses: “Pick an experience that is very sensory, and of which you have a strong sense memory — like hearing a train whistle, jumping into a rain puddle, catching that first whiff of lilac on a spring day, eating ice cream at the beach. One of those might work for you, or you might have one from your own past (eating jelly sandwiches in the woods springs to my particular mind). Then try to bring all five senses into it. What do you see, smell, feel, taste, and hear?”

A crystal of camphor can be a dynamite of sensory experience!


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