Would That I be a Hand Upon That Cheek . . .

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I do nothing but awkwardly glare

at a man who cannot stare,

as his rough fingers roam freely

in this blind man’s attempt to see me.

 

His fingers trace my nose

and I nervously curl my toes.

and I did agree, no doubt

but I didn’t know what it was about

 

His hands caress gently, no hesitation

exploring each flaw and imperfection.

I wonder if he could have blue rose* disorder

when he couldn’t have known sight, ever.

 

He strokes a piece of fallen hair.

It makes me wonder what is there

and if he can feel my insecurity

in this blind man’s attempt to see me.

 

 

*Blue roses have been sought after all over the world but never found since they cannot be grown naturally. Therefore, they represent the wanting of something you can never have.

 

 

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