I loved you in

the curve of your upper lip;

budding laugh lines;

the edge of your eyes.

I loved you in 

the swell of your lower lip

against my own and in

the stories, the pads of

your fingers that murmered 

lovingly along the expanse

of my hips and the scars

they found there.

I loved you in 

the way you

stopped loving me.

In the curve of your lip

and lines at the edge

of your eyes. 

All turned down 

on my every flaw.

In the way

your lower lip spun

around words that

strung me out; 

in the way that

your fingertips fled

my imperfections like

every part of me was

unholy and aflame

as if loving me 

were sacrilegious. 

And I love you now; 

in the way you

found love again. 

In cleaner arms than mine. 

But love all the same.