The country of senses

On the island of taste,
A glowing tornado whirled in my mouth,
rolling and shifting,
full of bursting flavours that exploded in a flutter of stars.

On the island of hearing,
the fleecy clouds buzzed to the beat of the atmosphere,
while the supple flowers shed intricate petals.

On the island of touch,
The air pressed on me like a blanket,
the sweltering heat scorching my burnt skin.

On the island of sight,
I saw things no one should see,
war and rage,
wealth and power,
and in the centre,
a single, luminous flower.