Her Imperfectness

Not the perfect smile
laced with any beguile,
neither a face that resembles
some Greek goddess sigh,
not even a husky voice,
or some voluptuous shape,
nor the suave like a swan
gracefully swaying forward,
none of these mattered,

For I was in love with her imperfections
Like the snorting she do
while she carelessly laugh,
or eat from my plate
after announcing
hunger is not on her side,
the unkempt hair,
the carefree locks,
wearing the same eye liners,
and the disarrayed lipstick
from the last night

Such thoughts,
and some more of her insane absurdity
what draws me into her

Copyright Β© Shantanu Baruah

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