Coming To My Senses

An itch below my left shoulder blade means I have something that needs expressing.

That's my signal, anyway.

As if a trapped insect is burrowing down underneath my epidermis.

A taste of metal in my mouth means the person I am speaking with is addicted.

We are our addictions, anyway.

Like the aftertaste of rice cooked in a new copper pot.

The sound of bells in my eardrums, even though there is silence, means to pay attention.

To be alert, anyway.

The clangs are brassy and cloying and often right before a fawn bolts across two lanes.

A sudden waft of roses means the spirit world is knocking on my door.

And I must stop and listen, anyway.

Arresting in its simplicity and clarity, it is the scent of a distilled essence.

A warm yellow glow around a companion means they are coming from a good place.

And I can trust them, anyway.

Natural and unexpected, but not blinding or even surprising.

A vacant darkness in someone's eyes means they are in pain.

Anyway.