Give Me No Perfect Things

Give Me No Perfect Things
Give me no perfect things:
a snowflake -
kalaidoscopic, machine-cut,
different but all alike,
more perfect for a second
than anything I treasure.
Diamonds have an icy charm
but they are aloof and silent,
adamantine angularity.
And stars -
my love’s eyes are starless,
for stars, too, are cold, distant,
their darts of light
a show not meant for me.
Give me a beauty marred:
a mottled sycamore
shedding bark and leaves;
an aged lady’s painted lips,                          
her gaudy smear of rouge —
gallant hubris
in the face
of all that’s perfect.
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