She has legs that You won’t ever have
and absolutely no stomach
She has Her own things,
the types of things I’ve wanted
She has curves in the right places
firm in the right spaces
Her skin is a canvas with no blemish
as if a master painter just finished
Her hair curly and thick
that She loves My fingers to pick
Her hands feel like feathers to me
every part perfectly formed, and pretty
Her eyes are beautiful
Her lips so full
Her neck is sexy
Her act is cool
and She’s probably just My type
definitely the kind that I like
We fit seamlessly,
bonded easily
We laugh like it’s Our religion
make love constantly, Our decision
play games, and take chance
We work together, after making plans
similar goals
and familiar stories
common attitudes
even the way We worry
I finish Her sentences
She completes my thought
Our disagreements are productive
unlike when You and I fought
I dream of Her
She says She thinks of me
there is not a moment alone
from Her image
I tend to remember Her,
instinctively
She finds the moon
just as wonderful as I do
She’s learned to study people,
just as much as I knew
and silence makes sense
for both of us
We make noise that is good
for both of us
Her favorite color suits me fine
Her interest I choose to supply
and I have never felt so adored
She obliges Me except to afford

and while that and more is true
there’s only one thing
that I keep trying to do,

that being wanting to stop
wishing She was You.

-see

©2015 Cornelious “See” Flowers
@seethepoet