a poem
she asked me to write
something pretty for her.
so i wrote about the smiles
found in the gaps of her fingers.
the way her eyes lit up when she
read. i found joy in the crookedness of
her teeth and the smoothness of her skin.
admired the way her neck would extend and
fold like a swan when taking in the type of sun
found only in spring. she was pretty and perfect
and meant to be framed in some overpriced museum.
that’s when i knew she would…
