If only the films could capture
the imperfections of love:
like 3am arguments that mean nothing but a need to be heard.
When heads **** and clothes become struggles in the throes of passion.
the imperfections of the way you love yourself, but they love you anyways.
If only they could capture shuffles up stairs between moans and kisses.
and just capture the boundless love when love is imperfect.
If only.