After Rain

After Rain

 

After Rain,

The soil smells like Petrichor,

They say,

It can be written down,

It’s shape hexagonal and round,

Relayed through books no less profound,

Than Saturday strolls after the downpour.

 

At sunrise,

Light bends through rods and cones,

They surmise,

By chemical gradient alone,

No surprise,

On majestic mounds eyes freely roam,

Because of refractive index and vitreous mass,

This way, one sees earth’s splendour, alas.

 

A composition,

Formed of fluctuating hormones and rhythm,

Their decision,

Feeling found through the anvil and stirrup’s position,

A proposition:

Musical sound a mere mathematical mission,

To hear song not through intuition,

But concept alone; the intellect’s imposition.

 

Your touch,

Transferred through neuronal firing,

Not much,

Room for kiss and cuddle desiring,

As such,

For the corpuscles of pressure,

Speak of one’s every whim and endeavour,

And the tugs on your heart we can surely measure.

 

A paste,

Forms on your lips and gums,

The taste,

Of strawberry frais and fruits,

With haste,

Calculate the sweet factor of plums,

Analyse the acetyl groups and hoops,

Which define the sweetness of your heart’s hum