Journey of the Senses

BY GRETCHEN VELARDE

The scent of wine emanates from your mouth
And the slowly opening pores of your skin.
The faint taste of alcohol, forgotten fruits, and
Other secret ingredients
frolicking
Created the fermented intoxicating liquid which,
dampens
the interior of the mouth
and the entirety of the throat.
Destroys the walls
and barriers
that curtail the freedom
of the
mind
and washes
away
the inhibitions
of the
soul.

It emanates from you.

In my eyes,
You look like the local version of an Irishman,
Who stave off the poverty of their body and spirit
With a glassful of whiskey or
Cheap beer on their lips.

Your Eyes,
misted and dazed by the
growing intoxication,
revealed secrets of your darkest nights.

Your Cheeks,
glowing with tints of red roses
and rains of fireflies,
reflected the blushing innocence
of a youth held captive by love.

Your Voice,
laced with a hint of roughness,
became that of a matador’s
who summons a raging bull
to the bloodied battle ring.

And your Hands,
Oh, your hands!
with fingers smaller than the drops of rain.
They suddenly became travelers
of unchartered forests,
of untamed bushes,
of torrential rivers and seas,
of yielding caves,
of smooth plains and rolling valleys,
of throbbing islands,
of infinitesimal winding roads,
of orchards that grow exotic fruits,
of the land that overflows with milk and honey.

You suddenly became a traveler of the world,
A world more mysterious than fiction.
The senses are your compass,
Your radar, your north star, your guide.
Through these, you always lose your way.

Overpowered
by creations that are as old as time,
perpetual as the sun and the elements,
defiantly standing like stubborn rocks,
repeatedly whipped by wild waves,
and by every hour of every day
grow more beautiful than all the wonders of the seven seas.