And it isn’t the smile
(Well, maybe a bit),
And it isn’t the eyes
(Okay, that’s a lie),
And it isn’t the vocation
(I guess, I don’t know),
And it isn’t the voice
(Though I do hear its music),
And it isn’t the touch
(But it does give me chills),
And it isn’t the scent
(Sweet as it is),
But it’s every flaw,
Every issue,
Every huge imperfection –
And the wonderfully careless soul it comes with –
That gets me,
And that’s how you know it’s not a
Utopian,
Blinded idea,
But the real, unending, idiot deal.