January 25, 2011
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To hold love is not to hold perfection.
‘Tis not articulated as a heart
and hand-crafted poem, with each section
composed to compliment each other part.

Often it transpires as not was planned-
so neither does it flow between so smooth
as rivers course liberated, undammed
but rapids tumbling-thrashing-me and you.

What once was day-dreamed as little girls:
unquestioned, effortless devotion ne’r came
envisioned embraces, ribbons, kisses, curls
rarely becomes reality these days.

But this imperfection still does not suggest
that perfect, love must be, to be its best.

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