Perfect

The road to perfection

Doesn’t exist

But that doesn’t stop me

From trying.

 

For me:

Perfection resides,

In a fragile flower,

A hapless dame

In a tall tower.

Just out of reach.

 

Perfection tastes

Like morning tea,

Like rain drops falling

Within the sea

Of my dreams.

 

Perfection belongs

To a mother’s embrace

To a lover’s smile

A familiar face

That I was searching.

 

And yet:

Perfection isn’t

What perfection seems,

Perfection can only exist

In someone else’s dream.

 

 

 

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