Subject to the inadequacy
as result of one faulty gene that resides within me,
I smile.
I smile with teeth too large for my small mouth,
and dimples like caverns
that remind me
that some holes are meant to be there.
His eyelashes flutter against my cheek, awake,
and I can feel the two years away from him.
He is rainy days and the first snow fall of the year.
He is the first time I lied to my parents,
he is the summer carnival,
and the 3am shoulder to cry on.
He comes when he is meant to come,
and leaves when he is meant to leave.
But that doesn't mean that when he does,
it doesn't hurt, because it did.
And then I realize
that no matter how tightly
he can hold me,
or how many poems I write,
he is the last fallen leaf of autumn,
and I am the first frost of winter.
Almost,
but not quite.
Old feelings
