Blind

She takes my hand—it’s warm

I pull her close “Come with me.” I say

I smell the roses at her neck and hear her breathe

I concentrate on the sounds—the inhale and the exhale

Her breathing changes as I near her.

I dig my hands into her back, pressing her to me

My fingers travel through long hair, trapping them in fire

Silk presses against me, two bodies forced to become one

Warmth seeps into my skin as we stand together in silence

I breathe in and myriads of scents hit me

Each mixes into the other, to blend into a drug that draws me away,

Yet pulls me closer

My hands are shaking; my lips are burning.

Her proximity breathes love

It is as if ribbons of it are caught in her hair, as if the tang is on our lips

I laugh and long to cut my heart out, give it to her—

Not as a bleeding, pulsing organ

But as a jewel she could shape and cut and wear as a promise of fidelity.

Her words scar into the crook of my neck

As she places soft kisses along my throat

The words shape themselves on her mouth

Her breath tastes like wine and chocolate-covered strawberries

The feeling it brings is like the sensation of life,

Of breath being poured into the lungs of a drowned man,

Allowing him to wake and open his eyes.

But when I open my eyes all I see is the churning black water—

I feel the breath, the words of a lover that speak of sweet nothing

Of my name

I feel the silk, her hands, her body, her lips, and her sweet warmth

Hear her breath, her voice, the distant music, and the frighteningly satisfying silence

But all I see is black.