no

What’s perfection look like?

Does it include these thoughts of dread?

Was it perfectly all right before we came to question everything in bed?

Would it see us less than perfect, and if so, well, what then?

Would perfection worsen itself to be our perfect twin?

Would it be more perfect were it all alone?

Would perfection hold itself divided against our home?

Should the perfect skip a step if and when it should?

Could it be seen at all in fact, being perfect with light?

Is perfection silent, a cacophony of sound?

Does it measure, or even move, and does it get around?

Can it grow when perfect so, does it ever end?

Had perfection always been there first, did it make it better when?

Was perfection able to take time, does it own a choice?

How should perfection come or go and does it make or still?

Will perfection hear as well, is each echo less?

Does perfection mouth the words?

Does it raise a voice?

Where’s perfection feeling when feeling perfectly?

Has it need for lust and greed, or is it just alluring?

Does it come with what we’re done with, would it want those two?

Is it perfect if it has them all, or does it feel just too?

Where’s perfection’s ins and outs and do the doors revolve?

Should perfection pose a problem anyone can solve?

Does it know itself as perfect, as perfectly as them?

Where’s perfection’s prized possession it would understand?

Can perfection be a scent, accent, innocent?

Would perfection care to share, and would it even make sense?