Without a sight

My fingers were gliding on the curve of my skull, the straw hair becoming more and more scarce, the raspy chin appearing scared up close, the bumps and hollows of temples, but still slick somewhat, and those useless protruding ears, can a bony face be lovable, can the mask of death be seen as something beautiful, something that would deserve to be kept close and cherished in the alcove of stringy arms, stir good feelings in a mind, something which the weight could rest on a cheek, on a belly, or on a lap, and grazed cautiously.

?!

sometimes it seems i feel a space to accept what is, vague and far away.