Underneath the ironically dim light
of the neon-inspired bar,
you line up for a picture
and struggle to disguise
a misshapen smile—
perfect, I call it
and you call me insane.

But your mirror can’t show
how my skin tingles
when your cheeky grin
catches me across the room,
or the perfect fit of your lips
pressed against mine.

Sighing, I look
at your close-lipped smile
and think of the gap
you painfully hide,
a small space just big enough
to be perfection redefined.