You wrinkle your nose when he walks in.
I trace my fingers through the wrinkles
on his skin.
What am I attracted to?
The ignorance,
of not knowing.
He holds that key,
to what lies in the shadows,
to that whisper I’m afraid to call out to.
I go on these adventures, but am I settling?
And, if so, to who’s standard?
When you look at nature, where is the beauty?
Is it the color of the trees?
The sound of the birds?
The strength of the ocean’s wave?
I always found the beauty of nature was
the calm.
Merely the calmness that settles,
within my spirit.
When he holds me close, I can finally hear
what my breaths sound like.
He allows me the silence to actually hear
what my breaths sound like.
Can a spirit be sexier, than a chiseled jaw?
Do I even care if it’s sexy?
How do blind people have sex?
They love.
Let our energies spark and nothing else.
And when we’re naked let them see.
that I am not ashamed of the cracks.
Because, you see, I have scars of my own
that many have been afraid to touch
But he, traces them with his fingers.
He’ll die before me but I’m not afraid.
A widow at such an early age.
I’m more curious of what they’ll write on
his tombstone.
How old he was?
No, my love, I’ll write our vows.

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