Imperfect Perfection

Awkwardly navigating my own fear the space that I crave stepping into is moving far back from its own shadow

And the deep winding spirals of my mind cannot grasp the annoying simplicity.

Walk through it, observe it, taste it.

Oddly dry. An ocean rung out by fire. The buds on my tongue swell in the heat as parched, my open mouthed confession waits for just the right weather.

Spring. The truth in the ever blooming laughter that cycle just as gracefully back into the earth.

This is  the imperfect perfect moment in which to speak your fundamental ambiguity.

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