Poetry: How Perfect Feels

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You are a dream I can’t remember,
Hanging on the fringes of my memory.
You are the month after December,
Thirty days of grace before January.

You are a star in constant motion,
Here this minute and gone the next.
You are an idea or a notion,
And I can’t read you like a text.

You are a wish for something more,
An expectation for tomorrow.
You’re like Band-Aid on a sore,
You cover up the sorrow.

You are the last matchstick it the box,
Without you there’ll be no flames.
You are a clean pair of white socks,
You keep me from being ashamed.

You are a minute before sunset,
Gone in sixty seconds.
You are a beautiful prospect,
A bright future that beckons.