How intimate to live in darkness
and have my world outlined by you.
You, whose face I know only by touch,
your presence marked by a distinctive step and scent.
I will never tell you, "you look great today",
and yet, you stay.
My absence of vision is not a factor in our love.
Our interactions are not transactional.
Not dependent on physical equity.
Our mutual value is without question.
Rather we are enmeshed by the experience.
My world outlined by your patient description,
each object tethered to the lilt of your voice.
When you are not near, my landscape changes.
With another, a room becomes...uncertain.
The shadows and surfaces of places that I know
become foreign, shift shape, alter in perspective.
As though the sound of your voice gives physical shape to the words, wrapping around door handles, skimming over tables, softening sharp corners.
I might never have seen your face, 
but I know all about your beauty.
Do not underestimate the many ways I can see a person.
One needs more than good sight to really see the world,
and not even the blind exist without insight.


◄ Cruel companion

Russian dolls ►


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