And move… I must.
Without the blur, sparkle, fade to darkness,
or mesmerizing moonlight… you
cannot join me where I am.
Without the boom, sizzle, creak of the hinge,
or squeal of the newborn… you
will not hear that which I hear.
Without the gentle, harsh, tight-fisted grip,
or hair raising inappropriate goose… you
would fail to feel that which I feel.
Without the spicy, chocolate, tangy sweet cakes,
or bacon rousing mornings… you
could not salivate over my tasty experience.
Without the smoke, cat box, rosey-covered B.O.,
or fishy fresh perfume… you
would wonder why I opt not to sniff.
Without the jump, sag, belly-laugh jiggle,
or “sorry my dearie” crawl… you
could not know each motion I make.
And move… I must
For writers must evoke the senses.
© Jerry Thomas