My Soul in Your Hands

if someone were to blindfold you and place my book in your hand,

you would know it’s a book.

you could feel its edges,

the rough, dry paper.

you could open the cover and flip through it.

you could smell the dull, comforting scent of the ink.

you could listen to the fluttering sound as you thumb through the pages.

but you would never know what it said.

if someone were to blindfold you and place my heart in your hand,

you would know it’s a heart.

you could feel its valves,

the slimy, warm muscle.

you could open it up and notice its hollows.

you could smell the iron-ee, organic scent of the blood.

you could listen to the squishing sound as you held it in your hands.

but you would never know what it loved.

if someone were to blindfold you and place my ear in your hand,

you would know it’s an ear.

you could feel its folds,

the flimsy, strong cartilage.

you could open it up and stretch it out.

you could smell the odd, human scent of the wax.

you could listen to the swishing sound as you rubbed its grooves.

but you would never know what it heard.

if someone were to blindfold you and place my soul in your hand,

you would never know it was a soul.