I like full lips. Not so that the mouth looks large, just lips that look a little heavier than mine, so that they fall almost into a pout, curling, hanging. I like lips that say, “I’m here, I’m here to do something,” and spread to reveal a smile of wide, white teeth. With a little gap in the middle. Just a little one. I like that a lot. I like flat noses, not flattened like squished, but tall, strong; straight. I like noses that fall seamlessly into broad cheeks, proud spaces of clear skin—minimal blemishes, please—on a tall face on a tall body. I like chins that stretch but do not span, and I like clean shaven. Or an even smattering of bristles this way and that. And I like thick hair. Any color is OK, but… I like hair that should be touched.

I like skinny. I like skinny a lot. I even like lanky; I just don’t like scrawny. I like big triceps and round biceps, upper arms that bulge and hug shirt sleeves. I like veins that snake smoothly up silky forearms, peeking out from under long, brown hairs. I like round chests and flat stomachs, adorned with slender furrows and hipbones cleanly cut. I like spaces that fingers can walk through, on bodies big or small. I like bodies. Any height is OK, I guess, I just—I like bodies that should be touched.

I like jokers. I like teasers, inveiglers, players, and tricksters. I like laughter open and cavernous, laughter that starts in a cathedral, laughter with earnest fingers that pry open my mouth and place a pill on my tongue, but then ends in a sacristy, so quiet that I have to swallow without water. I like left feet that take the first step, because I sure won’t, and right feet that wait for me to catch up and ears that know what to hear when I say “I like you so much” and I like eyes that I can look at because they’re gray or brown or green or maybe they’re just empty sockets; I like people that weigh so much that if they laY next to me in bed their side would sink so far down that I’d just roll right on top because that way even if they die the corpse would still pull me on top and we’d still have that chemistry—right?—and I like good manners because good manners means he’ll come over; someone’ll come over here, right?, and ask how I am and I’ll bait him and get him until one day I’ll say, oh, I like you so much, and I have no idea what he’ll say but I’m sure it will be just right because I like him so much.