I'm waiting for the perfect girl,
I'm painting her in my mind,
I'm not using my hand or my arms because soon I hope to be blind.
I don't want to see, hear, taste, smell or touch,
for life is measured in seconds and sensors, and relatively I've had enough.
I've had enough of your radiance,
enough of your beauty,
In trying to describe it I've done more than my duty.
If our love was flawless, had mercy, a sensory piece of art,
then it would leave me no skin, eyes, ears, tongue or nose
and to leave me perfect,
to leave me scarred and marked,
if it was hungry enough to rip me apart,
catalog all of my senses in measures and chart,
for our love to be perfect,
it would eat my heart.