S (May)

Sound, a ceaseless sensual symphony so to speak, a susurrus of invisible waves in the shell-like, the swirling surfs of May. Touch- curly contour map fingertips, serpentine arms body legs –feels our nervous way with a seemingly seamless absence of nerves. Sight- so direct, enveloped, sorting every shape depth colour –moves outward around sideways, its designed efforts willed towards design. Taste, brought to us today by that slippery servant, the tongue, tests our sensitive judgements between ration rationale and obesity. Smell, cartoonist’s fantasy, their esses of sweetest aroma rise to nicety nostrils, as also select stinks of science stable S-bend.