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Replying to a comment on:
Love poem (on sense and experience) (Free verse) by thavimatola "The softest lips, the sweetest mouth
I kissed when I kissed you.
My hesitating fingers felt
Skin soft as morning dew.
And eyes have yet to fall upon
Hair of finger hue."
Poets tend to say such things
As if they weren't aware
That lips are often soft to touch
And young girls' skin is fair.
That time, a sink, and Clairol
Can tint most any hair.
I felt as if a train of comely girls
Not wearing any clothes
With long, red hair arranged in curls
From out my brain arose,
Came and kindled crack-pipes
And blew smoke up my nose.
For sense is not experience
As pigment isn't art,
And when I kiss your painted lips,
Though nerves have got their part,
It's really something else that shakes
My frightened, smitten heart.
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