The sense are suspect
which means
I cannot trust

(your hands tracing
my face
your lips brushing
my hair
the way you cling
to me)

you. There is
no way
to trust that you
are touching
me.
(I touch you as
you touch me
limbs entangled
unerringly innocent
the simplest form
of contact.)

My senses are
suspect
and so I may
reasonably doubt
everything
about you.

But my mind is true
and so
even though
I do not know
if you exist -
I know
(and can trust)
that I love you.