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.
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