Perfect would — no, should, wear you like a suit and tie; the same perfection you embody when you're in a suit and tie. Each edge of cotton in line with the layer above, tip to tip, symmetrical like join-the-dot butterfly puzzles in books with even page numbers. Skin to cloth, no spaces or pockets of air inbetween — no room for mistakes or a mismatch of sizes, no air for awkward conversation endings to hang.
You fill up the spaces left in me. You smoothen my sharp edges, your curves complement my own — two jigsaw puzzle pieces that fit without having to try. Sometimes I imagine us, and that maybe perfect would — no, should, wear you the way I would.