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 Seventh Sense (Erogenous Senses)

Eyes are closed. The rocking of the train to and fro feels like my lover cradling me in her arms. Morning has arrived but night still lives in my eyes.  The sounds of early morning commuters struggling to get their minds and bodies to embrace a new day is in revolt as they sip on various concoctions of caffeine to stop the mutiny.  My lips speak Braille to my steaming cup of caffeine and a quick sip test determines it’s still too hot for consumption.  The strong scent is inhaled through my nostrils jumpstarting my brain temporarily causing my eyelids to flutter open for a second, but the weight of sleep seduces me, and I drift back into a state of conscious reverie.  Every scent on the train is distinct and creates a space of its own.  In that space, an image is formed and gives life to a person that is known only to you by the scent emanating from her body.  A person’s perfume or cologne is just as good as DNA or a fingerprint.  The woman entering the train and now taking the seat directly across from me is flashy but burdened with low self-esteem. Her walk was uneven, not strident and confident like the young dreadlocked young lady sitting next to me. Her perfume is loud, her jewelry and bracelets announce she’s coming through but no one pays attention. Newspaper pages are still turning, coffee is still being sipped and the temperature is still cool. When a woman who walks in beauty enters a room filled with men, the temperature rises and heat is palpable. Less is more I want to tell her but sleep keeps me hostage until I arrive at my stop and somehow levitate my body to my place of employment.

The train takes the curve around the track coming from East 180^th into Pelham Parkway , a bit too fast and unsure. The motorman must be new.  Men regain their balance smiling half-heartedly, embarrassed to be seen flailing about and uncoordinated. They stare at invisible objects in the sky and reach into their coat pockets to answer their cell phones that haven’t rung as yet. Women smile at each other and apologize for bumping into each other.  Unfazed by the sudden swerving, the young lady sitting next to me continues listening to her Ipod which is repeating Prince’s “Adore”.  She is tall. I know this because her breath is even with my nose.  Her breath is fresh and scents of early morning toothpaste mixed with sugar free vanilla soy latte. Her breathing is soft, even and floats in waves to my nostrils. I breathe her in deeply and at once inhale everything that is her. Her hair smells like a garden of lavender, rosemary, red rose, sage, red clover and marigolds. Her hair is long and swings aimlessly, grazing the back of my right hand. It tickles at first; almost forcing me to open my eyes, but I keep them closed and continue to listen with my senses. A muffled voice disturbs the silence letting me know my destination is fast approaching. An intrusive scent temporarily breaks the spell and jolts my senses violently. The air hangs heavy with its scents of loss, loneliness, disillusionment, fear and a battle ensues for all that smells good. The connecting door between subway cars open and spring’s fragrance of life anew sweeps in dispelling the unwanted scent before sleeping commuters can realize that something was amiss.

Her head turns to me slowly. The heat emanating from her body and breath kisses my face softly and my entire body tingles with desire.  I remain motionless for fear of moving causing the moment to somehow lose its breath and leaving me with nothing.  She comes closer, her breath is warm and its kiss too intense causing my face to form into a smile. Her long hair, lovely with the scents of nature’s garden, envelops my face and she kisses my lips. My eyes finally open and her face fills my senses. It’s at once overpowering and familiar. She always wakes me with a kiss when we arrive at our destination.

Jéan-Pierre, Dean

Copyright © www.deanthepoet.com

7:31 am

9-03-06

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Updated: September 04, 2006.