Poetry on the Senses
Touch, the fine membrane of fleeting time that drips on naked skin, tremulous and dancing.
Feel, the flesh that bristles, the emanations from proffered fruit, the spirit of nature that shields and mothers.
Hear, the voice from a far-off place, from between broken and twisted branches, the perpetual whispering of the leaves and blades of grass that recount with zest the origin of all things.
See, the intoxicating beauty of tomorrows that enchant and, through their fleeting outlines, the woman, the goddess of our dormant senses.
Taste, the salt of our desires that come and go, the treacherous surf, perfumed in the stories told only to us. And on the tip of the tongue, an acrid flavor.

Bronze 33 x 22 cm