Perfect

Written 2/13/2017

Edited 2/15/2017

I felt perfection under the caress of my fingers. I pressed my tongue to feel the charge of ideal and breathed deep the floating particles of a dream of possibility. Maybe it's not your dream, maybe not your perfection, but to me, oh to me. Perfect. Not pristine. Not immaculate. But perfect, the way the one picture is perfect on the one perfect wall. Like it was made on a molecular level to be there. She was the right thing in the right place at the right time. Perfect. I lie next to perfection, and in the morning I have to smile, and watch ideal walk out the door. And I have to trust, with a damaged, imperfect, heart, whose cracks and faults have left it without faith, that my dream will remember me when she wakes.