Synesthesia Scents from Sepals

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Imagine you can hear the liquid rise

As sweetness through the branches with their leaves.

You listen as the fragrance, tiny, cries

Of beauty as it moves through rose-bud sleeves,

Perfumiers in Paris wishing they

Could hear presentiments of petals soon

To spread.  Imagine you can hear their spray

Of velvet, silk and satin in the noon

Before the showers come to cleanse and gem

Bud casings, setting jewels on sepals of

The sleeping blossoms like a diadem.

Imagine hearing silent flow of love.

  Imagine you can smell the sound of blooms

    Awakening pink and lavender perfumes.

© Phillip Whidden