I can hear you making small holes in the silence.
If I were deaf the pores of my skin would open to you and shut,
And I should know you by the lick of you.
If I were blind the something special smell you make when the sun cakes the ground,
The steady drum roll sound you make when the wind drops,
But if I should not hear, smell or feel or see you,
You would still define me, disperse me,
Wash over me,
Please visit my poetry blog at http://ppq365.wordpress.com/