They say Perfect doesn’t exist,
I think I found it.
It’s late nights, long drives,
Staring at his smile.
As he makes me fall harder and harder.
Perfect is spilling food on my clothes and licking it off as we laugh.
I found Perfect.

He is Perfect.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

I'm in a relationship with my loneliness,
She embraces me
When need be.

All our lives are we cultivated—
Cultivated by birth,
Cultivated by parents, friends, teachers—
By the ethos—
which in turn cultivates the identities which we don—in search of a self.


Cultivated by Earth—Irrigated by Love.
All so, to be purchased by Death—
A ripened Consumer.

My muse, you need know—
That some day hence,
Idleness shall come knocking on your
door.
And know this now—
That when you do decide to let him in,
I shall accompany him—
For I have forfeited my night turned days
To him—In your name.