Talking of Definitions

Being the perfectionist that I like to be,
I always thought I was incapable
of loving things
that were, even a bit, less than perfect
Until I saw you
and the inexplicable rush consumed me
Until I saw you and fell in a trench of awe
I gawked at the canvas that is you,
His aesthetics,
identifying the shades of sin and purity
as the eternity and finity collide,
and everything in between unite.
You would disagree and deny,
in the name of modesty
and it's true how you are not close
to what they call perfection,
hardly brewed to flawlessness
but the sight of you compelled me, altogether,
into altering my definition of perfect.
I helplessly let the memory—
the memory of witnessing you
you illuminating me with a fragrance
a fragrance giving rise to an urge
an urge to embrace you
—be the definition.

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