Spinning Spices

In a reverie, lost
inside the mixture
languages of buttery smoothness
sounds of the East fill my ears

And a grasping
This tongue can do no
justice or description
A pull, strong

And words, a simple flow
Judgement beyond, they appear
Just as thoughtless as sunlight.
Yet, just as sunlight, full of weight.

I can smell the spices
Hear the bustle
And see the shades of color

Still come questions
Questions of connection
My feet are in many places
pocked with different colors

Green, orange, blue, red
White.

An anomaly.
Hideous
Beautiful
With a dash of spice.

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