Perfection
I'm lying in the cold living room
in a chilly house in the dark
and this frigid sofa is my bed
The fan above me whirls around consistantly
Slight chirps of insects are at the window
the slow tic-toc tic-toc's of the clock kepping rythym
I am alone in this dark twilight tomb
I am lainon the concrete-like sofa
Dreaming of warmer, brighter, friendlier places
The sunny images flash through my mind
Like each blade of the fan ever passing
They are glimpses of where I long to be
Then suddenly the fan stops its persistant spinning
The insects outside grow more and more silent
And the insistant tic-toc's even dim into nothing
And there before my dreaming eyes is a bright presentation
A surreal silhouette of a man, arms open
And he seems to be drawing nearer and nearer still
The face becomes abundantly clearer with each step
The warmth I feel when I see an ever so slight smile
Fills my internal chambers and they are engulfed by passion
This man, I realize, emits more power over my thoughts
It seems I cannot maintain a single idea
without it containing his face, his voice, his aura
And as I lay in my own little catacomb
I stare, without blinking, into this image
And I reach out to him with my entire being
The corners of his lips raise into a beaming smile
And the temperature within is brought to an inferno
Together the flames lap and dance around us
And in this moment, all is perfect.
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