I like people of few words
who only say what is necessary.
I like beaches of broken sea shells,
with sharp edges and hidden treasures.
I like under-ripe bananas.
I like unfinished paintings,
and lop-sided picture frames,
and books that end in the middle of a
I like soft tummies.
I like scars that keep memories,
and birth marks,
and stretch marks.
I like oversized knitted jerseys
that smell like someone’s grandma.
I like girls that wear men’s shirts.
I like poems that are a little ambiguous.
I like open ended questions.
I like kisses that taste faintly of cigarette smoke.
I like doors that are left slightly ajar,
and open drawers,
ready to spill their secrets.
I like the smell of bodies on sheets;
of the morning after.
I like over-grown hiking trails,
and gardens that have been left to their own devices.
I like messy journals
words crossed out.
I like dog-eared books
with notes in margins.
I like chipped toe-nail polish.
I like second hand furniture
with mismatched handles and faded polish.
I like dented bumpers
and broken mirrors.
I like the scratch marks on my wooden floor,
that someone before me made.
I like the idea of things that have stories to tell.