Did I hit publish

I like to hold things Palms softly weighing Curvatures Textures whispering Holding blindly Tightly to understand The escaping shapes The steering wheel under your hands The windows blowing the black hills The rumble of your voice When you speak closely with me The rumble of your voice when you speak closely with me God dammit I hold things Sunken and warm Between my collar bones Rubbing myself with them Rubbing myself all over them Unable to see With my own eyes Or hear with my own ears Pressing edges Sharp until flattened Little folded swans Of no reason The letters obscured By the multitudes of creases To read you I must learn to read you To unfold All instruction To render my self dumb and deaf And blind Finally learning Touch