The Blind Musician
My fingers read the braille
of your body, sensing
lyrics in your skin,
the music on these staves
of your rib‑cage. I lean
close to hear its cadences:
breathing. You are song,
I sense your vibrancy.
This is the tactus
of the composition:
It is there, beneath
my fingertips …
Touching lets me know
what is between us.