it is never perfect,
that first kiss, that first
touch, that first glance
when you walk into a room
and notice each other for the first time.
everything is flawed.

somewhere in your past the earth is shattered,
or a wind is playing hard devil
with human life.
every first moment
holds your broken places in it,
and if you convince yourself
that it is instead perfect, you are certain
to be crushed someday;
and the same is true of the one
you are looking to with such hope.

we are all filled with error. we all grope toward
some kind of correction, hoping
the next body erases
the feel of the last from our hands.
it cannot happen.

grow past it, knowing
the cracks will never disappear.
only you can live in your past,
but anyone could be your future.
if a glance, a touch, a kiss
pleases you, accept it
the way you want
to be accepted:

as if this moment
was all anyone needed
to know you;

as if, right now,
this moment was all you need
to know them.