To The Unseen

To the unseen,
what might you look like?
Where our eyes fail to reach you may we touch you.
To know all of what you are as the blind may spindle their way through grains of plastic in invisible books. Memorize each crevasse and line of your face with our fingertips.
May we catch you in our fingernails and hold you there until your taste and smell may sink into our senses. Pungent white filled odor and a dough like empty taste. Not quite air, not that full. Just a cloud of blank; a symphony of silence resting on our tastebuds. The way a starless night invades our thoughts.
If we were to spray your form in sticky paint, would it illuminate your figure, so we may watch as you shine.
Or would it just sink through you, as in slow motion water. White paint strings dripping through open space, we should call it glue as we hope it will glue you to our lives but paint seems so much friendlier. Our eyes magnitude to watch only the drops, as they splat to the surface and inch over every pebble and bump until we could dip into it with our toes.
How do you appear so inexistent, teach us your secrets so we may follow the path.
Do you stroke our hair while we lay in silent nightmares. Body too cold and frozen out of fear, stuck in a blizzard where our cries come out as dust and we look down to realize we are no more than a skeleton; holding onto life by threads too soft to break but so stale they might suddenly snap. Then we’ll fall into our own nightmares, the fright of our souls and silences of our youth.
Will you have your arms, wrapped round up to our chin when we wake and convulse into chest wrenching sobs. Soak your shirt with our tears, pat our back when we choke on the salt that drips back into our lungs and threatens to drown us.
So impossible to really hold you in our eyes, or arms, or tongues.
But when we know you’re here, really need the extra pair of eyes.
We know our head will see you no matter what, or else you wouldn’t appear every time.