Firewhisk
Your special touch.
I feel light when between your fingers,
as though you could shape me,
a clay made of meringue.
Feather light,
brushed into a delectable art that
melts on my senses
I take shape between your forgiving hands.
You give me reason to become more.
Guiding,
sculpting my perceptions
of what is:
my very own refined taste.
What is refined?
Moreso, what is taste?
Questions burn
scalded like an impatient tongue
now senseless
for all it’s want.
Enveloped in the aroma
of compassion
like a sweet cocoa thick in the air
in a place we can do no wrong,
we grew into something beautiful.
Opposing,
discretely forbidden,
we’ve grown strong through tribulations.
Irresistable,
our opposites unavoidably balance each other,
a bright resonation that can’t help but tip the scales.
A pitch so perfect it leaves silence,
a taste so complete it leaves nothing to guesswork.
Ironic,
I should know the smell and texture,
taste of you so completely
that it leaves us at a loss
of what to do with it but admire it as art.
Our lives,
well experienced,
molten together as a single
bright and glassy
beautiful
fragile world
that tastes of heat and cinders.
I feel light when between your fingers,
as though you could shape me,
a clay made of meringue.
Feather light,
brushed into a delectable art that
melts on my senses
I take shape between your forgiving hands.
You give me reason to become more.
Guiding,
sculpting my perceptions
of what is:
my very own refined taste.
What is refined?
Moreso, what is taste?
Questions burn
scalded like an impatient tongue
now senseless
for all it’s want.
Enveloped in the aroma
of compassion
like a sweet cocoa thick in the air
in a place we can do no wrong,
we grew into something beautiful.
Opposing,
discretely forbidden,
we’ve grown strong through tribulations.
Irresistable,
our opposites unavoidably balance each other,
a bright resonation that can’t help but tip the scales.
A pitch so perfect it leaves silence,
a taste so complete it leaves nothing to guesswork.
Ironic,
I should know the smell and texture,
taste of you so completely
that it leaves us at a loss
of what to do with it but admire it as art.
Our lives,
well experienced,
molten together as a single
bright and glassy
beautiful
fragile world
that tastes of heat and cinders.
© 2009 by Michelle Ferris
