Mirrors I

Look back at me.
I contend that I am every bit as imperfect as you.
Though, your teeth may have a crooked bent
my skin bunches in odd ways when I smile my awkward smile at you.
And it's a shame,
because you like the way it frames my eyes,
and I like the way your skin-- speckled in a constellation of
red-brown flecks-- changes texture on every turn.
I smile again,
when you say my clumsy hands are like art
against your flesh.
You think yourself too thin
Yet, my day begins and ends on the path from your clavicle to your pelvic bone.
Bask with me in this sacred place,
that we may revel in our ugliness,
and rely on each other
as mirrors.