Look into my eyes
and say with me,
*"I am worthy of love."

I consider perfection a collection,
a collection of never to bees
buzzing over ridges, known as
wrinkles.
Singletons looking for systems in
order to find
the right one
Not the right now
Millions of kisses going amiss
Reclusive, exclusive people
unobtrusive civilians, waiting for
the impulse to collect and recollect,
the calluses of love.