So maybe a burned down church
adorned with graffiti words of love and satan
with light shimmering off broken glass
from windows you broke in times of turmoil past
a broken camera slung from my shoulder
and a confused terrier cradled in my arm
might have been an imperfect place for our first kiss.
But we are imperfect people.
So maybe it was perfectly imperfect
for us.

Maybe we are imperfectly perfect
for each other.