When I was thirteen, I began making
A habit out of slowly tracing my fingertips
Over the faces of those I loved very much.
For in fear of one day losing my sight,
I would still recall their familiar touch.
After over three years of memorization,
Of all your fine lines from proclamations
And every ridge of small bone
That makes up the ambivalence of your features.
I can say with full assurance that
Should I ever go blind,
My lips will always be able to find every spot
They wish to touch,
Through trails of breath and
Benevolent scent.
The ridge of my brow
Will always meet yours,
No matter how dark,
Dampened or sore.
I can say with assurance, I’ll never forget.
Not a single texture, not a single inch.
YOU ARE READING
pause.
PoetryWithin this, there is a collection of my poetry. From inspiring talk of dreams and overcoming your obstacles, to memoirs of unconditional love, and to deep sadness and personal pains over portrayal of my body and mind. This is a rollercoaster of my...
