I see seven colours intertwined;
It is not a rainbow.
I hear squeaky chirps and laughs;
There is no one else here except me.
I smell redolent beautiful flowers;
There is not a patch of grass for miles.
I taste fresh apples in my mouth;
This is not a picnic, we don’t do that anymore.
I feel warmth coming from a distant horizon;
It is not the Sun.
I see fire burning outside;
It is not cold, not the winter.
I hear the ruffles, ripples of the water;
There is not a source for it.
I smell the pine trees reek of pine;
It is not a forest.
I taste the vert of leaves;
The season is of autumn, not of spring.
I feel the tingling of molecular change;
It is not the wind.
I see a silhouette towering my tidily stature;
The doors are not open.
I hear a soft rumble of wind-chimes;
The wind is not blowing.
I smell dark, happy liquor;
It is not a bar where I am at.
I taste the tinge of gasoline;
This is not a galley.
I feel the flames engulf me;
They are not red, blue, yellow or orange.
I see dimples in your cheeks;
You are not smiling.
I hear an overwhelming roulade;
There is not a lip that bestirs.
I smell your boisterous cologne;
You do not keep it anymore.
I taste mint, and cherry;
They were not in the candies you brought.
I feel your breath breezing my bantam scars;
You are not breathing.
I cannot see the light;
It is the end of the tunnel.
I cannot hear the grievances of others;
This is a vacuum.
I cannot smell the flowers you sent;
They have rotten to be buried ahead.
I cannot taste the savouring of delight;
My chassis works no more.
I cannot feel the molecules part;
This is hell, and heaven, enlaced together,
This is the sixth sense,
Oh lover, oh friend,
And I am drowning in it with you,
For another forever.