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You’re pretty far from perfect, but damn if you aren’t the best man
I’ve ever met,
words scrawled across a piece of paper, crumpled up.

She is trying to get the words
just right
but it’s hard to confine him to letters and sounds when he is
so much else

You’re a good man, one I could will spend the rest of my life with,
crumple.
Start again.

Put a new record on, something old. Something folksy. Something that stirs every part of her and pulls up his image from the depths of her heart.

I love the way you sound coming home, boots hitting the hardwood, door slamming shut behind you.
A declaration.
You are home where you belong.
And you aren’t perfect but you work hard
You aren’t perfect but damn, you’re close enough for me, you
are good enough for me
Smell of soap and oranges and dust, dust dust that
dirties your hands
You are good enough
for me.

Overall



It's funny because when I started to read this, I was slightly confused because the beginning feels very much like prose. Then I saw your comments at the end and "prose-etry" is a spot on description. The style though, works with the piece nicely and it might be interesting to explore further. I'm a sucker for repetition and love how it's used in this poem. I did stumble a bit over the "dust, dust dust" part of the last stanza though. It seems almost a typing mistake but I can't be sure. I would also separate the sentences for the writing and the commentary. Such as "...damn if you aren’t the best man/ I’ve ever met./ Words scrawled across a piece of paper, crumpled up." The separation would make the differences in voice clearer. Overall, this is a lovely poem so well done.