Spectroscope Mumbling
"If you are not willing to risk the unusual. you will have to settle for the ordinary."--Jim Rohn
You are mid-afternoon nostalgia
The rasp of a page against worn fingers
As they turn the pages of a philosophers meanderings
You are the dark freckle between the branches of an iris
Behind the glass and round rims
Fogged by heavy breath
However, you are not the smell of an oncoming rain
The tension of a spring storm
And you are certainly not the flash of red-sequined shoes
Beneath the round circle of a long dress
It is possible that you are the warm relief of a house
After a traipse through snow-covered hills
But you are not even close
To being a fragile rose-bud, twitching beneath gentle Southern winds
And a quick look in the mirror will show
That you are not the dainty clasp of a lady's hand
nor the man's heated breath over her lotioned skin
It might interest you to know
Speaking of the beautiful imagery of the world
That I am a rumbling thunder
I also happen to be the pinch of a winter night
The crisp scent of ink scratched over rough parchment paper
The bounce of a leg under a table
I am also the boisterous screeching call of a powder gray bird
And the incessant shake of a musical hand
But don't worry, I'm not the freckle or fogged glasses
You are still the freckle and the moisture over the surface
You will always be
Not to mention the crisp turn of a page and--somehow--the whorls of the scholars fingers
