Crooked hips you used to sway
when and where I 
wanted. The high and low of
your angled invitation was
intended, my slim curves offset 
and appealing. You 
were my friends, drawing eyes that
said I was young
and pretty. Up and down, down
now you betray my time
extended, like the hands of
a broken clock, falling when
unasked, and lying to new eyes that
can not see me, for you. They see
something broken, used a while,
asymmetrical in a world that loves 
balance. But I know, you cannot
help but please, even now. Asymmetry
is interesting, complex, not for 
amateurs. Like the rest of
me, more
than simple math.