I could write about his glassy obsidian eyes,

The cold, soulless eyes,

The perfect shape and size,

With long, ebony eyelashes woven into the sky

But I’d rather write about his squinty eyes,

Too small for his face,

Full with love and respect,

For the world

I could write about his wavy hair,

Resting above his perfect eyes,

Silky and long,

The best shade of blonde

But I’d rather write about his hair,

Neither brown, neither blonde,

Longing for a cut and trim

Of those split ends

I could write about his porcelain skin,

Not a wrinkle, not a bruise,

Perfectly tanned yet

So cold

But I’d rather write about his sunburned cheeks,

With flaky skin and parched knees,

From all those games of beach volleyball,

Yet so inviting, so caring,

Brimming with honesty and truth

I could write about his new Lamborghini,

Gucci wallet full of cash,

Brand-name clothes and

Overflowing closet

But I’d rather write about his rusty pick-up truck,

Needing a new paint job,

With faulty brakes,

Yet full of memories and laughs

I could write about his straight, pearl-white teeth,

Inside a full-lipped mouth,

But without a smile

But I’d rather write about his crowded teeth,

Lips too thin,

With a smile always cheerful and happy,

I could write about his empty heart,

Yes, full of love,

But only for himself

But I’d rather write about his cozy heart,

With true feelings of

Love, caring and respect,

Because he has a heart,

Because he is imperfect and

Beautiful