Like the Rudolf pimple that appears on my nose apex
Or the birthmark near my shoulder joint

Or perhaps it is found in poems, like a how a break-up
Is more fashionable than a fairytale affair

It could also be Cinderella’s slipper in Prince’s palms
And he calls it his chalice of hope

And the kite is seemingly larger than the small child who carries it
As if she can take his little frame to heaven

In love too, you get the strange customs
Like when I kiss her Chinese navel with baby kisses

Or when she farts and calls it “a colon burp”
Even the little lump on her ankle, that sits like Sugarloaf mountain

And she walks like a penguin, with a larger-than-life behind
And cuddles on to me for insulation

And these anomalies are what makes the little things
Like hope, love and oddities that remind you

That we leave behind post-it-notes everywhere we go
Small reminders that we are so diverse

Our individuality that exemplifies “me” – from the rest
An island in an archipelago of many

A beautiful anomaly of odds we call life, gametes in chiasma
Recombined by little editions of fate

And a chance rendez-vous and a mass of cells that grew up to conformity
To be a gendered, colored mass of flesh and bone

Searching the ordinary for something extraordinary
To fall, maybe even tumble down, in love.


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