1The Human Senses
Hope buoys itself in lumps
and raises off my skin like stitches like scars
hot and black between my right cortex and mouth
If you were blind
your touch would read me like Braille
But you are not blind
and when we feel
it is with thimbles over our thumbs
How can we begin to braid the impressions in our palms
if we cannot reconcile your indifference and my blistered tongue
Can we come together in some corner destination
with no name and no taste
Where we can speak words that
strut with backbones