you are flawed.
your hands are tired, covering your worn out eyes, purple shadowing them.
your hair is a mess;
your face blemished eagerly beneath it like a chance not taken.
even your thoughts seem to be disappearing, dwindling down to nothingness like the greenery in your pocket.
you are perfect.
your eyes shine when i look at them, tiny smiles in their corners.
your hands compliment mine so well, i love to kiss your fingers.
your hair is choppy, lavished so vaguely, too dark to see in the dusty light i scrutinize you in.
your face is one of a kind. so patient, never condescending towards my own, frail and worried in my lazy complection.
your thoughts... i miss those thoughts, sitting behind the wheel, philosophies magnifying in the hazy sky.
the flawed perfection amplifying with it,
even we did not remember the names given.