It is quite obvious,
The way your tongue will feel
while reading this title:
slithering itself in a wet void.
Your nose now dreams of a petrichor,
The toes shall yearn for the wet grass.
Fingertips aching to scratch the moss
of the exiled pebbles somewhere,
How just a few words,
could tease your senses.
Yet you use a picture to interpolate
© Shashank Bhardwaj