Lacking tangibility.
A sense associated with memory.
Scientifically proven to be attached to neurological stimulus.
But in its simpler form,
it reminds us of Sunday afternoons
and coffee stains.
It reminds us of the rain
and the sheets of your bed.
It can't be felt,
only recognized.
And like you,
it can soften in an inhale
and hurt in an exhale.

Here is the old
Victorian table
of rich cherry-polished wood
set so nicely
for the afternoon meal
but there will be no conventional
repast today
click of locked door
clink of
utensils
upon the floor
whoosh of cloth napkins
tossed to the side
beauty of inhibitions thrown
in silent
animal pride
come to me
now
I climb on the surface,
So smooth
Let me offer you
some succulent thigh
my roundness is ready
for your consumption
and I need to devour your
deep beauty
the fire in your eyes
let it go right into me
with every bite
move towards me
as I open to you
It is time for this
luscious, tender feast
to be relished
and
consumed

I can taste the colours of your kiss
Fiery crimsons bursting through
Mellow yellows
Exploding into sweet tangelo
Cool blues
Turning violet
As my senses play this quiet duet

I hear music when you touch me
Bass lines throbbing alongside
Exotic rhythms
Tumbling into trembling strings
Soaring voices
Dulcet tones
Within your music my body groans

I can smell flowers in your words
Tender Honeysuckle pervades
Alluring Rose
Sweet Alyssum quickly follows
Heady Jasmine
Lascivious Lilies
Impressions that set my spirit free

You muddle my mind with euphoria
Sensibility rearranged
In anticipation
Of this intoxication
I live
In Synaesthesia
Whenever you are near

(C) Pixievic

Ones who look
But never see,
Are ones who won't
Agree to agree.

Ones who hear
But never listen,
Never get
One's position.

Ones who touch
But never feel,
Have heavy hearts
Forged in steel.

Ones with answers
Who never ask,
Are usually blowing it
Out one's ***.

Ones who smell,
Well...
Avoid those ones.

I want to love violently,
Ripping everything to shreds with the power it gives me.
I want to love gently,
Dragging my fingers slowly across your cheek where the sun kisses it good morning.
I want to love adventurously,
With our hair whipping in the wind on the way to a city far away, driving music blaring.
I want to love intentionally,
By grabbing your hand and ditching a party to kiss in the dark because you're the only one I want to be with.
I want to love with overflowing passion,
Running to catch the bus and then our breaths after coffee took too long.
I want to love without thinking,
Dialing your number automatically for the slightest of things.
I want all these things for my love, but most of all
I want to love you,
Forever.

You can feel the pain of life
cutting deep inside of you,
When you are out there swimming
On the edge of who you are.

You can see a mystic glow
That captures your attention,
Just before you find yourself
Abandoned in the dark.

You can taste the bitterness
Of loosing to the the universe,
Meditating on the sad things
That have made you who you are.

You can hear the hollow breath
That comes from deep within
Your chest as it it heaving,
When you don't know where you are.

You can smell the pheromones
And want to enter paradise
Of the intoxicating lifeforce;
Libidinous and stark.

He tasted like vanilla and reminded me of sweet summer nights and old worn out leather jackets. He was the rain on a hot day; the day you're usually begging for more from. I fell in love with him fast and quick. The let down was just as fast as I heard from a friend he hopped a train out of town & he wasn't seen again.

He tasted like fall. Fallen leaves and broken tree branches. Hints of spiced tea and buttered toast at breakfast. He had dark brown hair and bright green eyes. He was the apple cider with a shot of whiskey you ached for when you're roaming for the perfect pumpkin. I lost him in a corn maze to a girl with yellow hair, he smiled and said he was sorry. I heard they got married & have a baby on the way.

He tasted like ashes of a cigarette that wouldn't quite go away. He was sweeter than expected and awfully romantic when it suited him. He wore ripped jeans and this ugly orange beanie. He was cold though.. At times like a winter storm. His icy ways hit me in the face a couple times. Last I heard he was in Chicago now with some girl names Roxanne beating her like he did me.

He tasted like... Valentine's Day. Chocolates and red wine and rose petals on your bed. He smelled like cologne and wore his hair slicked back in that gentleman way. He rarely smiled but when he did it could have lit New York for days. He tasted like... Memories. Like walking down the hallway in school; smiling with secrets only you knew. He rarely laughed... But he did... He could have made symphonies jealous with that sound.

He's married now, two kids and a perfect house. He still wears his hair slicked back and I heard he doesn't smile much at all these days. I saw him once, he flashed that grin so ever lasting and for a brief moment...we both remembered the days when it was he and I against the world.

My nose is benumbed with the
chill, and the cold and the numb
but the touch of her thumb
****** the ice out of me
and into her.
My lips were dry without
her warmth, left with the sweet
painful taste of craving
dehydrated,
drained.
My ears hurt with the
screaming, and the constant streaming
of her tears, and the tears,
in her heart,
in her eyes.
My eyes are blinded by the
nothingness, and the stark contrast
of her pale skin, and her pale face,
against the darkness,
the blackness.

and finally,
what do you see
she asks me
there's nothing to see
i reply.
why can't you see
why can't you see
wHYCAN'TYOUSEE
she yells
because you won't let me
i whisper.