Maybe it was the ricketyion of the night. Maybe the sourness of glimmer. The sweet placid night Serene after the filthy stares. Imperfection. Tenderness swells through my veins. decrease unspoken touch, Fingers trickling through my skin. Without anxiety for a reason, This unspoilt is. We vertical are. Ultimate comfort in a question-less moment. The cold faulty night Warms my heart. Inexplicable night. To explain would be to rush. Sense is do Through the dark eye And sweet lips Of imperfection. On this night, Calendars do non wait with watchful eyes, Encouraging movement. They lowlifenot control moment into minute. The one-time(prenominal) is an illusion. God, wherefore degrade us of perfection? For its thoughts lie in spite of appearance my heart Its breath posture upon my skin Its sound lay within my ears. Though my eyes whitethorn close, though my eyes may open The same sight remain reach Manifested thoughts only prove true. To those who see imperfection i n this; still see imperfect eyes. Perfection is possible. Perfection is you.
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