Perfection is formless
It is force and momentum

Although some deny its existence
I can't help but find myself
Heart racing,
trying to catch a glance
without being seen

Perfection is imagination
Given form and so so much weight
But only while it lasts
Which is fleeting at its best

Perfection is unapproachable
For those who seek the kind of romance
That lives and dies inside;
I can't imagine any other way