Colorful essence

My eyes are messengers.

The trumpeted vine flower sings to me, from her scarlet bubble lips

perfume rings rise, concentrically.

Her essence says cha, cha, cha.

I watch the saunter, the suave —

the grace.

This creature explores the space like the zest escaping an orange.

His scent, alluring and inviting.

I gaze out the window as the bus leaves the station. The yellow glow of the sun permeates the ad-covered window.

The warmth, safety.

Cloaking me in invisible protection.

My shoulders relax, I am the meat of the lemon, wrapped in the peel.

Doors open, bare feet aching for dewed grass.

Arms outstretched, chin up.

Cool, wisdom greets the soles.

Dank and fresh scents waft

drawing up gratitude and courage.

Gurgle, gurgle, gulp, whoosh.

The river calls.

She cleanses even the dented, pock-marked sores in my aura.

In her song I hear, Love who you Love, and

Always include you too.

Purple grapes crown the vine.

The flavor lights up the back of my tongue.

Juice seems to fill each cell, the warm rich elixir feeds

pride.

It is a gift, usually misunderstood.

To feel and dance with the world in

sensuality, sensation, and awe.

Deep pleasure is waiting in the most unlikely details.