Settle?

What is love if not different from soul to soul,
A search for the perfect match
Turns up empty, always.

Because Imperfection is the perfection.
My thought of what love should be
Is constantly
Different from anyone else’s.

Settle.
Settle for the subtle differences,
Settle for the wide gaps.
Settle for admiring the red winged black bird,
And they adoring
the Blue Jay,
As the birds both shit
Purple berry shit on your freshly washed cars.
Settle for the paper hits
And they the mescaline pill
Which give you both that tingle
in your brain
At the point just off the center
of your foreheads
About an hour after you partake.

Settle for the sky at night
With the big dipper
And a full moon
And the shadow of a flock of bats
Crossing its course.
All the while their preference is the plain blue of the day—
With clouds.
Settle for the toke of a joint
While they light the blunt
And you both get high differently—
But together.

Look into each other’s eyes
All you fancy.
They will never converge,
They only peer at one another
And then are compelled
To look away
To other
More sexual
Elements of the body.
This is the kind of love I recall
This is the kind of love I know—
No other actually exists
Right Now
In my world.