"Our senses note only particulars,"
states the bound lettered manual
which is teaching me this art I know
participatorily if not passably.

"We never see color, we see particular
colors. We never just touch, we touch something."
I have not yet gotten a feel for particulars but I fear
the good book is wrong; I fear that it lies.

Am I an anomaly? I do not remember
if I touched you tonight, if I heard
your voice, if I noted the color of your eyes.
I touched. I heard. I saw. But I lost my senses.