Perfectly Imperfect

I love his imperfections, and count his every pore. I stroke his bitten fingertips, his grey hairs I adore.

I kiss his moles and eye bags, his smelly morning breath. I worship every part of him, each wrinkle and each cleft.

His unreliability and blowing hot and cold. Just serve to prove his humanness, his moods sparkle like gold.

The words that fall from off his tongue, the funny and the sad. I treasure every one of them, the kind ones and the bad.

I miss that flawed human, but being me is tough. I want to be perfect for him, but maybe I'm enough.