Every mouth you’ve ever kissed was practice for me. Every body you’ve undressed and taken in, was a rounded peg trying to fill your square hole, a fit, not perfect. I don’t mind the marks they left trying to fit.
I’m not perfect, i have my own pointed corners, but that makes me the perfect fit to your square hole. I like edges, they give us something to dangle our feet off of while we hold hands. It’s good to be home.