A few minutes with her and I smile to myself
She is a well-loved child,
Zero personality.
I am being mean, of course,
She is lovely and promising 
Sometimes dull, it's true,
But doesn't she make that up with her bright, springing eyes?
The peculiar kind of mirth that you and I lack,
She doesn't,
The kind that comes before a thought can occur.
In a twisted way, then,
I like you more because we have less
We will have less
We are not lesser, anyhow.
I kissed her and it tasted like cloth
And I missed your seafoam sandy lips so much that I sighed
She is so lovely, she mistook it for a moan.
I wrapped my legs around her
The softness suffocating my bones
The coarseness of your palms and the harshness in your voice
They come back to me in flashes
With her, I'm no better than left alone.