i don’t love you because
of the perfect symmetry of your teeth
or the freshness of your shirt in the morning. i don’t
love you because your hair is 4 inches past your shoulder
and 2 inches around or because you can lift someone
twice my size with one hand. no. i don’t love you
because you smell like Calvin Klein or because the cuticles
of your fingernails are pink but not too pink or
because the angles of your face remind me of
my second grade infatuation with prince Phillip. no.
i love you for the dance in your eyes when
you touch my hand and the cotton in your
voice when you tell me goodnight. i love you because
your laugh reminds me of snowangels during the
first snow and because your heart beats like the lone
pink bulb on my Christmas tree. i love you for the prism of
your smile and how it touches the gold in my eye
and how the smile you plant on my heart is like
Alison Krauss on a June afternoon. yes. i love you because
you are the pressed crimson leaf in the scrapbook
of my life. you are the caterpillar to my butterfly.