Poetry No.1

Game of Imperfections

If I were to write like a boy in his teens

I wouldn't write about the way her figure pirouettes

Or her hair that cascades in auburn waves

I would even forget the smell of cigarette smouldered on her lace

No. I would write about her vivacious personality

The eccentric way she pronounces the letters 'r' and 's'

Plus the fact she will never be miss congeniality

I would even point out the fact that she calls me a pest

I would also write about the way she syllabicates

Or the way she trips in every curb she sees

The way she snorts when she laughs at a joke

And every time she wrongly calls a name

For love is a game of imperfections

It may be sullen, even a bit mischievous

It can also be arresting, a little bit cunning

But love's full of flaws and everyone's winning