The Perfect Love
The perfect love, unstained, fresh, scarless, frozen in time.
Love zapped into another realm, beautiful, firm, young, and perfect.
The gift of Spring, Summer waves take back to the ocean.
Like James Dean, always remembered as a metaphor, escaping the torment of the literal world.
A smile and a kiss decorated with tears. No let downs.
Feelings that fly up where the birds go. Sometimes even higher.
Bewitched.
Bodies shake in denial at the abrupt separation. Shocked.
Your memory in my pocket, holding your shadow by the hand.
Did you also forget yourself? Maybe I knew you from before.
When the music spoke, I could hear your thoughts.
The perfect love. Maybe never meeting again.
Maybe never feeling this way again. No decay.
Words escape. Benign fruit of the spirit.
Love that is not envious, or boastful. Love that is safe.
I gave you a bouquet made out of stars. You decorated the room with water petals.
The departed can always paint the sky with sweeter colors.
The colors are just as we imagined.
A construct we tell ourselves, a story we carve in the wind.
Kindness, admiration, and grace.
Hope of maybe someday… maybe.
Released by the sunrise.
