A Spasm Of Love And Hate

A perfect match
Edges so sharp
With a fit too close.
Minds almost touching
Bodies in unison
A homologous pair
With emotions on high.
Bitter hatred
Or indefinite affection,
Not a choice really
As much as destiny.
No choice
No voice
No control.
And even if there is a feeling
And even if it is requited
Is it real?
Can something take up space
Without bumps and defects?
Perfection will not
Can not
Override reality.
So if perfection
Is imaginary,
The truest of love
Must exist
Between mismatched lovers.

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