You can’t be perfect, or you would be mine.
But then again, my vision may be skewed,
and what will be may be in fact more fine
than anything I dream. It would be rude
if I attempted argument, and worse
than that, my effort would be doomed to fail,
for love cannot by flattery or force
be won, nor trust be captured by detail.

I want to keep the memory intact,
maintain the moments and avoid the pain,
enjoy the fantasy, forgive the fact,
beguile, fascinate, and entertain.
I want, but I must modulate my tone.
For I can’t breathe this dream alive alone.