you have made your differences.
you have painted your sky blue
(without the undercoat)
you have snuggled up with stars in bed
(knife hidden under the pillow)
and cooed and giggled all cute-like.

now you come home all cold and silver.
you cast me a moon gaze,
nothing more,
and use your words
and your jaunty movements,
like each joint is a mechanical hinge.

i still think you’re beautiful.
no matter how slippery and wet you get
(in the worst and best of ways)
no matter how much your smile stretches
past your teeth and no matter
how many times i want to put my hand
under the pillow. i still think you’re beautiful.

i don’t think you’re perfect
because i have seen your imperfections
the way your dapples fall against the grain
the way you talk and the way your words
are wrong so very often.
but your imperfects make you so much more human,
and so much more beautiful.

if i die tomorrow just know this.
just know that i was sick of your
starlight manipulations and the way you
twisted silver light (all wrong
and reflective).
but despite this, please know
that i very almost fell for you.