A perfect Imperfection

Seeing your groggy face when you arise,
hair all askew, wrinkled bed clothes, eyes still asleep ...

perfect Imperfection ... it truly is ...

the stain on your shirt when I imagine you eating
with your little girl, playing food wars ...

The perfect imperfect ... me, when I want you,
between sheets, and my little game
putting cold feet on your skin ... for your heat ...

The imperfect -- ... ( i'm smiling now )

is time itself escaping from between my feet,
trying to run to reach it, and pleading with it to stop,
when I'm thinking everything
is magical.

What is perfect is to be naked
next to you without any masks, without respirators,
contemplating the ceiling of your room while
you pause time with a kiss.

my soul Naked, the imperfect perfect​

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Berry,
What's perfect? What's imperfect? Who knows? Everything depends on the intentions and the feelings which are in the heart of the observer. Fine verses adorned with a smooth eroticism. My warm congratulations.
Fraternally,
Ramiro