You see my mouth …
Funny little smiles,
Between each word.
My friendly nature …
Or hiding the fear,
The sadness.

I look into your eyes…
Dark brown;
Skin light brown.
You find beauty…
In my white skin,
Like fresh snow.
You tell me in a note…
You find it beautiful.
I remember only a bit;
Of signs for you…
Years ago,
Studying how to speak;
To those who cannot hear.
A talker…
And a deaf man;
So much in common;
So little to in common!
Yet, you hear my eyes…
You read my soul,
Like no other who say they hear.
Deafness is not only for those…
Whose ears do not vibrate.
Many a man or woman;
Do not choose to hear.
You hear so much more;
Then they ever have.
Without words…
And when you speak;
The hands of an Artist;
The hands of words;
We communicate,
This talker hears more…
Within your eyes . . .
Your hands  . .
Your quiet ways.

To you, Fredy: He and I dated for six years. Afterwards, we decided being best friends works better. Two different or four different cultures. He is from Guatemala, I’m American; I am hearing, he is deaf.