I’ve heard that love is blind, and who knows, maybe that’s how
you manage to make love so beautiful. The first time I met you,
you touched my face to get a feel for it like you were
admiring something sculpted out of marble. Every time you look
at me with those cloudy eyes, I want to capture all your eyelashes
and keep them in a jar poked full of holes, like kids do
with fireflies for breathing room, so one day I can make a wish
out of every single one of them that you will gain your sight
back again. Whenever you bring your seeing-eye dog
with us on dates, he always wags his tale so loudly
it would drown out a chorus of thunderclaps.
I’m jealous of how much time he gets to spend with you
every day: at stoplights, on streetcorners, in your apartment.
If love is blind, then I’m so glad I found you.