funhouse

we’re a funhouse mirror,
you and i.
together, our bodies fit:
hand to hand, shoulder to arm,

me tiny against your muscle.

and i like my body best when it’s
fractured,
my lips freshly chapped
after kissing you;
my hands warm
from holding yours;
my eyes scratchy-dry
from lack of sleep next to you;
my hair carrying the same fragrance
as yours because i absently bought
the same brand you use.

i like my face best when
it’s cradled against your shoulder;
my ears for listening to your heart
and my eyes bruise-dark from
the swimming goggles
after our sunday morning swim;
it changes the shadows and lines
of my face into something
i might love.