What makes you perfect
is the scar on your head
that you got from a falling object at
work. I told you to wear your hat.
You didn't listen. I'm not surprised at that.
What makes you perfect
are the cuts on your hands. I
used to cringe a little when I saw them.
I would imagine the pain it must inflict yet
you were always so oblivious.
What makes you perfect
is the way your hair goes a little crazy
sometimes. A wild mess, full of frenzy.
I say it makes you look
like an emporer penguin.
What makes you perfect
is the little gap in your
tooth. If I stare through it long enough I can
almost see a better world.
Let me take closer peak at paradise?
What makes you perfect
is your mixed colour beard. Specks of
dark brown and black, mixed with the
summer tone of blonde. Yellow.
The sight of your mouth is enough to make me mellow.
What makes you perfect
is the way you roll your jeans up and
secure them with a large safety
pin. I've never heard of anything so bizarre, or
at least not in a man. But in you I can.
What makes you perfect
is the annoying voice you do sometimes,
playful and relentless. It starts off as a joke,
usually you mocking me. I tell you to shut up
and you don't. Typical guy, typical bloke.
What makes you perfect
is the fact you're not a typical guy
or bloke. You're anything but. You're magical
and different and funny and a fool.
A fool I'm in love with because you're so cool.
What makes you perfect
is the way you kiss me. I hate wet kisses and
it's not that you're kissing me wrong. It's that I just don't
like spit. I never have. But I don't mind yours, I suppose.
You dry your lips just to wet them again as you move in. You know I hate it.
What makes you perfect
is your touch. It brings me alive
and sustains me. It's how I survive.
All is takes is for your arm to brush past mine
and I'm gone. Every time.
What makes you perfect
is that you don't think you're perfect. You
hate your gap in your tooth.
You shave your hairy back, even if I do say I like it.
That and your hairy chest do itch me.
But it's you. I would rather feel the itch than nothing at all.
What makes you perfect
is your excitement. The sparkle in your eyes
shows you are real, you are alive.
They light up every part of the night sky
when you smile. Your eyes smile.
What makes you perfect
is the way in which you love me.
With every part of yourself.
You kiss like we've never kissed,
you cuddle me like you never
want to let me go.
You say goodbye like it's the last time,
sometimes I wonder if it
is. Then I get a call before I've arrived home and
I know it won't be the last time.
It can't be the last time. Time merely signifies
when I will see you next. Is it wrong to see time purely as something
that indicates when I will see you next.
If it's wrong, I don't mind. We were never right
as such. But
we are. We are we.
Not just a you and
a me.
