Perception

I don’t need to see you to know you are close.

I know the sound of your steps, the whisper of your breath, the rumble of your laugh.

I know your scent, that olfactory quality that is purely you, that hides beneath your shampoo, the flavor I can never name because I’m bad with smells.

I know your touch, the small callus on your fingers from a lifetime on keyboards, the soft solidity of your frame, the warmth of your presence beside me.

I do not know your taste, I have not yet had that honor, but I am sure I will learn it, just as I have learned everything else.

Do you know me as I know you?

I don’t need to hear you to know what you say.

I recognize the curve of your lips when you’re shocked as you ask again and again until every detail has been rung out like a towel in the dryer.

I remember the tone of your disappointment as one of your charges does something foolish yet again, and I cringe, for it is a tone I have received myself.

I’ve retained a collection of your sayings and phrases, readily held in wait for when you learn more about the ways of the world and the beauties it holds.

Do you know me as I know you?

I don’t need to smell it to know I’ll love your cooking.

You scold me for being a simple man, probably correctly, but I love the smell of slightly fried tortilla, the taste of quesadillas and Kirkland salsa.

Your palette weeps as I cook another bagel and put my protein bars in the middle, but my hands cling to their warmth and I do my best to keep the melting chocolate from getting caught in my beard.

It is not hard to believe that your cooking will be an improvement.

Do you know me as I know you?

I do not need to hold you to know that I need it.

There is a comfort to you, arms wide enough to hold me, a body to match mine.

I did not know to pray for such a thing. I did not know how important it would be to me.

Do you know me as I know you?

I do not know the taste of your lips, your hands, your neck. I try not to think of such things, lest dreams pull me from what is real.

But I hope. I hope and pray and trust and dream in measured increments that some day I will be allowed the honor of learning.

Do you know me as I know you?