tell me, what do they feel like?
satin on skin, silken and luxurious
gently brushed rose petals, their velvet caress soothing pain
maybe sandpaper, each syllable dripping with poison ivy, a deadly venom of voice or pen
stabbing you with ink quilled thoughts
chewing on stained letters, each a glass edged piece of
branded CAPITAL LETTERS on the page of your cranium
burning and scalding you as they spill off your tongue
quietly, shh, speak in soft shades of lavender
or bellow it to the crowds, in violent flames of vermillion
soothe or salt the wound of another with your pen
forgive or arm yourself with a battalion of frenetic artillery

or let silence frame your contentment