I don’t give notice to
the positioning of my smile
it goes crooked
and sometimes squeaks
like a rusty door on hinges.
There is no such thing as perfection
to seek it is its own penalty.
Miring yourself in useless wandering
losing time and precious touching.
I mind instead, the way the light falls,
with tender precision across your brow
as you sleep and snore, sometimes cough.
I watch the way the moonlight loves you
the way it inches its way forward
seeking to peer silently
into the depths of those eyes
My hair is never smooth
the ends consider themselves travelers.
There are curled bits, and broken bits
and bits that cannot lay flat.
Like a rug with a trip.
I am smoother still in solitude
all the best bits wandering in and out
of my smiles hidden fortresses.
Gaily whispering of the next dream
even before I finish this one.