Some say that "Everyone touches your life somehow,"
but I don't miss most of them.
I prefer: "Everyone is inconsequential, except some people."

There are the wrong people.
There is nothing distinct about these people,
no excess of fingers,
no perpetual hiccups,
but when I see them I get angry
and I say: "You are the wrong people. Come back when you are the right person."

There are those people.
The almost perfect ones.
They couldn't be better if they were processed and packaged
and shipped to your doorstep.
Some say that "No one is perfect."
But I think that: "You could be."

It lies in those moments,
you know, the perfect ones.
They usually smell good
and have bare skin, so beautiful
that you close your eyes,
but that feels good too:
just floating there with a body.

Some say "It could be any body."
I almost agree.
But: "It's better because it's yours."

Perhaps best of all are those non-speaking ideals
who stay behind the coffee counter.