Misplaced Angel

She’s completely perfect.
Of course, that won’t last long in my company.
She made a sound yesterday
that sounded too much like “damn it”.

She’s perfect.
Yet the insidious imperfections of me
will eventually cause that to change because
what’s life without practical jokes
loud music, sound amplified through
empty paper towel rolls and
rude noises made by applying mouth to
bare skin?
What is life if one doesn’t question everything?

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