we’re like a puzzle, dear.
a constant struggle to find our match,
the piece with which we fit.
and all the while referring to the
example on the box, an image of
a puzzle perfectly plenary,
cookie-cutter courtships of two
jagged-edged squares
just looking to fit in.
and the sea of polygonal
cacophony, swept by the tides
spawned from the puzzler’s searches,
grows ever-increasingly frantic as
the elusive match hides amongst
the others, like a needle in that
hellish and predictable haystack.
in impatience, he concedes to the
concealing pile, and continues on
to the next piece of the puzzle.

but he’ll return, for the game
will not be complete
until we two final pieces
meet.