With My Eyes Closed

I still know you with my eyes closed

With my eyes closed I could pick you out from a crowd just by feeling the palms of your hands; small, like mine, but embarrassed as you pull away before I can feel the cuts and calluses.

With my eyes closed I could breathe you in and distinguish your scent; just a little bit soapy, with dashes of mint and anticipation.

With my eyes closed I could trace the contoured muscles of your arms and count the freckles on your back. By running my hand through your hair I can tell you the last time you had a haircut and to what degree you relax as my touch settles you.

With my eyes closed I can feel you on the verge of laughter and I know the exact swirly patterns you prefer as I softly scratch you to sleep.

With my eyes closed I know exactly how to touch you to elicit a smile, or a groan. I know how to excite or deny; how to please or tease.

With my eyes closed I can tell exactly how cold my feet are by how much you shudder when they touch yours; giving you a good excuse to snuggle in closer to warm me with your body heat

With my eyes closed I know exactly how we fit; hands traveling instinctively to enfold you just the way you like. I know how to find you in the dark, how to hold you so that we are, in fact, holding each other.

I know how to love you with my eyes closed