The scent of it rises out of the unknown, an elusive fragrance
just on the edge of perception, a teasing touch I feel inside each time I
breathe, lost if I breathe too deeply, and yet I do, craving to get at it, to
have it wash over me, through me, yet it always remains teasingly distant,
refusing to be pinned down, like a humming bird with wings vibrating too quickly
to be seen, or captured, and so, as much as I crave it, I must cling to what I
have, not what it might become, always there, always beyond reach, yet
something I always reach for again and again, its scent evading me, like a spice
I taste in some elaborate dish, unable to precisely define what it is I taste,
and yet at the same time, knowing if I can catch the scent or taste it, I might
ruin it.
No comments:
Post a Comment