Synaesthesia

This perfection:

deep indigo of the blueberry,

saturated primaries of the King Parrot,

ochres painted by the setting sun,

is exquisite pain; I want its DNA,

to become the silence of the desert night,

whisper of quarks in the inky blackness,

nocturnal song of the African bush,

to inhale sensation of crushed silk,

embody cool water on skin,

synthesize oblivion of deep sleep.

But these are lambent shadows,

intangible ticklings

of some ancient sense –

when observed, they are gone.

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26 thoughts on “Synaesthesia

  1. such a banquet of colours and sensations, served up in a palette of words, almost designed to gorge the mind…
    A feast I’ve had through your wonderful poetry…I am replete!! xPenx

    • ha, ha – yes, they are scrumptious and so beneficial to the brain and body – I eat them everyday and never get over their amazing colour. Thanks for your comments, frayedges πŸ™‚

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