Like me

Call it all a dream
and I'll call it just a
slight convention,
a pattering of sorts,
a meeting of the minds,
and we'll kiss cheeks,
and palm our lips
against the celestial
horizon and forget
all our troubles
amidst a bowl of
raisin bran and bananas,
between the traditional
standards of "we love
this way, but not
thisa way." But,
I love you just the way
you are, even if you were
fat and bald or underweight
or overweight or perplexively
tall or squishy and short,
with thighs large enough
to bear the world's children
or eyes as scooped as the curve
of my fingernails.
We walk across the dewy grass
together, grasping our hands
like melded wields of plastic,
two toy hands clasped,
sculpted that way because
that's how someone intended
for them to be, and that's
really how we intended them
to be. We'll love just the way
we do, as we do, and we'll kiss
as we like, with our lips
draped in memories of transparent
gauze, the chapstick of our
lives and our eyes will be open
because we never want to miss
a thing, we never want to miss
a flick of your eyelids, the
flair of your nostrils.
I'll remember you like this forever,
your face tipped downwards,
your eyes cradled into one,
a giant orb looking at me with
complex lashes and irises large
enough to swallow me whole,
your smell like grass and home
and me.