Posted in Daily Prompt, poetry

Pleasure

Smells of warm apple pie baking slowly in my mother’s kitchen

cinnamon, nutmeg, allspice, and other nose-tickling and mouth-watering pungent spices

Tastes of creamy, smooth, bitter coffee

chocolate hues and earthy tones that ground me, settling me into my day

Looks like a mountain valley colored by a sleepy nature

tiny red, orange, yellow, brown, and faded green petticoated dancers

Feels like a lover’s hands on the small of my back

holding me close, pulling me closer, pressing two into one

Sounds like a base line so deep my bones reverberate

in remembrance of words and phrases spoken in my soul’s language.

Pleasure, to me,

is heightened senses.

Pleasure

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Author:

Poetic moments in the words of a dreamer and other randomness in the words of a believer. "Hang yourself, poet, in your own words. Otherwise, you are dead." ~ Langston Hughes

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