Misfits

I really should pluck my brows, I said.
You really should make us both coffee, he said.
Hurry up and take the photo.
I pull a face.
But it is lost, with half my face.
I smile again, and I am
reminded
of some of the smaller details that
I love about him.
His laughter lines.
His mouth. His ginger face hair.
His chin, and his nose.

… and how he stood, two days early
too excited to wait,
to give me my valentines gift.

His boyish grin.
Most pleased with his choice, having assessed
the smile on my face.

There is no perfection in ‘us’.
There are more landmines than grass.

But he smells like home, and today
that is perfection.