This was written back in 2005, on another poetry-writing spree. A really strange poem.

The Senses of Me:

I see you,

Formless shape that you are,

I hear you,

Static and unclear sound that you are,

I feel you,

The roughness that you are,

I sense you,

Your presence is near me and yet so far from me—your distance from me is indeterminate,

I touch you,

A fire burns within you—yet an iciness coats your outside—you are hot, yet cold to the touch,

I smell you,

You are the smell of burning wood, and yet not that smell—you have your own type of smell—that of fire,

You are a rough formless shape that contains fire inside you,

Yet you coat yourself in ice,

Your presence is undetermined,

You smell of fire,

And you make a staticky and unclear sound to me,

Who are you?

I know you not,

But my senses know you.