He stood two to
three feet shorter than
he had thought.
She was wearing clothing
she had never seen before and
Both faces marred with the curses of burn victims.
Both lacking a symmetry they both expected.
Ivy like spiders crawling up legs
with the revealing hesitation that
they know what they’re doing
that they’ve done this before.
His left arm resembled a twig
you’d pick up in the back yard as a kid.
Her right arm shriveled as she stared at it.
Bent, dried up, fragile, dead.
Birth defective arms reaching out
from hospital cribs.
Stalled, confused, stuck
in an image they didn’t expect.