I watched a movie about a man
who knew faces, bodies through touch,
who tripped in both the dark and the light
to fumble and discover;
and I thought about your legs,
your stomach, your cheek bones
your hidden ears, and your laugh,
how I'd love for us not to fuck
our first night alone, but talk
and touch so I could lay with your curves
and hear mellow sadness drip from your mouth,
learn you with my hands while you tell stories
of how you longed to be loved
in some way that made you feel whole,
and I would tell you I broke so many rules
just to find you, so my eyes could know
the right darkness. My ears, your laugh,
my hands, your body—
you, the woman who walked, explored,
loved, guarded, fell, and succeeded
for thirty-five years
so I could touch you to know you
the way a blind man shows
he's in love.
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