almost perfect

© CNirvana

so I concede to ride in the back seat, hands crossed neatly in my lap

lazily laid back 

with the wind of the night air blowing the delicate curl past my ear

it feels good

brushing against my cheek

tickling the nape of my neck 

those delicate tendrils

I miss my fingers in your hair

and as the doctor tells me so

I lock myself in the bathroom,

whisper only to those that can hear

and bid the world goodnight

the only one I need will

never leave

perfect still doesn't exist