And sometimes, the words come too soon.

Sometimes, premeditation is absolute,

sometimes trepidation is resolved

with tears tumbling off the nose, off the lips.

What if pleasure was never-ending?

Then it wouldn’t be ecstatic.

The mundane of life is simply bliss

but disguised with reality’s dull.

We cannot coat the moments with false promises.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven:

away go wasted minutes spent looking,

critiquing, hoping for the perfect as the perfect slips away.

One of these days, the sun might glow brighter,

the grass may grow greener,

my mind may be calmer,

but you’ll be there always.

Through all this all that’s missing is faith.

Faith in progression, in joy, in love.

Days will be better, nights will be warmer.

and perfection shall reign again.