Twisted Parallelograms

A half smile to the left which reveals your true cool confidence
A flick of hair to show that you’re the boss
I don’t share your fixated blue eyes
I don’t flaunt your layered, complex figure lines
You stole the simple, tasteful, carefree outlines of lips
And left me with grey on white, unanswering, and transcendent focal points on my face

And sadly
These lips are what I am most proud of.
My calves and thighs do not scream “I hope you don’t find I’m teasing”, “It‘s not really you that I‘m craving” as yours do
But they whisper “if you ever wanted me, I would never let you break”.
Your cheeks are sunsets while mine are strawberries.
I know your hands seek flesh and cash while they have been molded by shopping bags and colorful pens.
Mine reach out for the door knob of a place I can call home and the cheek of the one who loves me back;
They have been shaped by sweat and dirt and catching myself when I fall.

Yet you always seem to have your seat in the throne
Except when we follow the coastlines of your body to New York and Oregon,
Stopping at your shoulders, not quite reaching your head:
The rounded, flowing lines of our collarbones project beneath the fabric of our polos.
Something simple yet dangerously resilient and graceful.
Separating themselves from the rest of the body, jutting forward, in an act of defiance to the saying “we are but the sum of all our parts”.

We’ve always said we’re opposites
And I don’t have the heart to tell you about our shared wonder that you always look over.
So go on being daring:
Take your dear lilac graces and face the world with the sun in your eyes
And I’ll stand here and wait with the door left open,
My broken, yet steady hands are ready to guide you once you lose your sight.