There are those who worship
At the altar of the ear
Who when they hear a certain note
Will shed a tear.

Some worship
Pastoral scenes
Seeing lakes and trees
They slip into a dream.

The church of haute cuisine for some
Is where they go
Every day
To kneel and pray

There are those whose smell sensation
Equates to olfactorial
Adulation
And infatuation

Some hedonists wouldn’t mind
Being blind
Tactile delights forever
Would suit them fine

Though my five senses
Work quite well
I find myself mainly interested
In my mind.

Sean Hunt  May 6 2016