Even though the rhythm of your footsteps has left in my mind echoes resounding, I did not so much as flinch when I heard you breathing in between beats.
I'm sorry for shuddering, but blood has boiled my nerves numb muddied everything I see dried out my tongue and though I launder your shirts every week,
I still don't know what you smell like.
Prompt: Losing one of your senses. This poem is about a time I wasn't okay with one of my parents and as a result, I'd become immune to their expressions of love and affection.