Perfect

He looks at me with those perfect eyes, Blue one day and green the next, Crowned by his perfect hair That he says needs cut again. The first time I saw him ever so casually Remove his shirt, smiling at me With those perfect teeth In his perfect mouth On his handsome face I had no idea anyone could be So unaware of how beautiful They are. But again He’s on a diet today. He plays the piano as if his feelings Simply flow through his fingertips, His perfectly manicured fingernails, Hands rough from lifting, And into the keys to make the most Gorgeous music. And yet, He hasn’t practiced Enough, Lately. I listen to him, and tell him to Follow all his dreams, because He can do it, and He looks at me as if He must think I am perfect. But I am not. For now, I am just lucky.