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It is not in perfection,
that I perceive you.
Too many times idyllic vision,
gives birth to rough seas.

Sitting on that pedestal,
alone would dust settle.
Quiet is the night that he,
cannot touch that
 which is his.

No- love is to be given and taken.
Sipped like fine wine upon the lips.
Savored within its palette,
Relishing  its discovery of worth.

Not to be taken in egocentric fashion.
Known but never really knowing.
Always searching, exploring,
Escorting without judgment.

It is not in the presumption,
that I stay.
That which is never knowing,
begs my heart to seek its truth,
over and over again.

Copyright © 1999 By Katie~