How come we are only lovers in the dark?
No sight is needed for we know every crevasse,
every curve,
recognizable by the very touch of a finger
and yet

"love is blind"
but what if it is only blind?
What if the night holds fits of passions,
but those very affections depart with the rising sun?
The facade beginning once again with daylight herself

Our love is blind by choice
Eyes gouged by the very hands we hold
We feel the warmth of each others touch,
at the cost of our very senses.