He loves my face
The shape of Cupid’s bow,
The curve of hazel,
Spotted scars sparse,
Extol my artistry, he does.
He loves my curves,
My thick mass,
The pulse beneath bust
My weight, my base
The sway of shark bite dress.
He loves my language
aberration of normal pillow talk,
Nibbles on his skin, sure,
Quick heavy breaths and sniffing,
Silly, immature play.
He loves my bad habits-
Leaving behind messes, yes,
Slacking on chores, yes,
But he always feels appreciated
Because I always let him know.
He loves my scatterbrain-
My emotional, empathetic organ
Although I have a mood disorder
He brings me Starbucks coffee
And a fistful of pills at noon out of love.
He loves my curse-
By that I mean he loves my Tourette’s
A quaint high-pitched “ Eeeee!”
An agile effeminate reminder
Tilted brows and drawn out “awe”
He loves my entity,
How I wield a knife to cut kale,
Or hold a brush to blend blue and pink-
Exactly how I come, my spirit,
My platinum bleach bangs.
Most of all, he loves our love
Our rock solid foundation of monogamous promise,
We both made up our hearts and minds-
He is mine; I am his
We are Soulmates💕
The Human Healer’s Stories 