He was the perfect height for her.
Tall enough that her head fell
Right tight under his sculpted chin
But not so tall that he was called "giant".

She was the perfect shape for him.
Not so skinny that he worried
About breaking her bones with a hug,
But curvy in all the places
That made him say a throaty "whoa".

She was a bookworm who loved TV.
He was a chef who loved Mac and Cheese.
They both adored animals,
Though he might have loved reptiles just a little too much.
And they both hated politics,
Though she might have set fire
To one too many campaign signs.

They argued about music, money, and kids.
They debated the merits of dancing in the rain.
They held hands in the moonlight,
And kissed at midday.
They grew old together and never strayed
Too far from the home they had built.

Then one day his chin wasn't high enough
For her head to fit snuggly below.
Her dresses, though comely,
No longer made him say "whoa".

But they still held hands and kissed
And remembered the days of their youth
When they were still learning
What being perfect for each other meant.

It wasn't until the night her heart gave out,
That she realized how he was perfect for her.
It wasn't his charm and dashing good looks,
Or his witty retorts and clever touchés,
But the simple fact
That through all of the years,
He loved her,
And that made him perfect for her.

It wasn't until she took her last breath,
That he understood how perfect she'd been.
She was perfect not because of her curves,
Her smile, her laugh, or her intelligence.
She was perfect for him because she loved him.

They'd been perfect in each other's eyes
Because love is blind.
And sometimes that's not a bad thing.

And
                       You were just
                Like the                 Moon,
           So lonely, so
   Full of imper-
Fections but
   Just like the
         Moon , you                    Shined  
                 In times of ,          Dar-
                               kness.

Your skin doesn't lie,
Your lips don’t either.
The soft touch of hand,
Upon body,
You give in.
Sweat, spilled wine and swoon,
Your heart skips a beat,
Only to match mine
In sync.
Lights on, lights off.
Beat harder,
Breathe faster,
Using our bodies to see each other.
Stop and go
Holding our breath,
Gripping the sheets
Until it’s over.

I filled my gas tank to 33 dollars and 33 cents 
and told you it was for you
because it was your favorite number.
I organized our belongings 
(white t-shirts—books—toothbrushes—
baby, this is where we keep our sweaters)
 as if using the word “our” would embed myself
into what you call home.
I bought flowers from a homeless man
because you are a botany major. 
I wanted to bring them to you,
wilting and loveless, and show you how
 I can nurture something worth saving.
There is a five-finger scar above my breast.
 There is an orchestra on my neck shaped like your pulse
 from all the nights you held me the way
 you only hold something slipping.
There are 6 states
 pressed like stubborn flowers 
between the last time I kissed you and today,
 but you still feel like a sound caught in my throat.

I always thought that you were perfect
Until you took your jacket off ,
And the sun broke through the window
And highlighted every scar on your beautiful arms.
That was the day that I realised
- you are perfect for **me

Mirrors are just glass
And my dear ,
You are so much more than that.