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Essential Sensuality
By William Brendan McPhillips
21st CenturyThe Earth exudes the scent of Spring, at last.
As if it mattered, calendar and clock
Are mere invention, future, present, past,
Containments shelving consciousness in block.
We sense the seasons, not because they come
To pleasure us, for all the pleasure brought
Is out of us, sensations sorted, some
Intense intentions meant to rouse the sought.
Alas the mystics miss the scent to be
Beyond sensation, free of reason's pull,
But oh! The sensuality is me
In time and place, in mystic bondage, full.
And Spring awakens reason's mystic musk
To be between the seasons, dawn and dusk.
DayPoems Poem No. 2257
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