My eyes are beautiful, she says.
She must dig the haunted, empty look.

My smile is gorgeous, she says.
My tongue has felt those chips and nicks far too often to agree.

My arms look strong, she says.
I am surprised—she’s seen the scars.

My hands stir her, she says.
There is nothing elegant about them.

She loves me too, she says.
Even as we recall all the times I traumatized her.

She will never leave me, she says.
Dear God—that’s what I was afraid of.

She’d never do better than me, she says.
At that, I bite my tongue.

She doesn’t know what I see in her, she says.
And this, I think, is why we keep each other around.