Perfect: A Fibonacci Poem




Is not

Always in

Its commanded place. 

My skin is never quite so clear.

I know my "heartfelt" smile may not constantly be true.

The liveliness in my eyes can be forced. The tilt of my head always has a motive.

The only true pictures, where none of this matters, are the ones with my most cherished friend, for when we are together we are only perfect.


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