Almost perfect

There is a pamper,
and the purity 
in starlight;
so many days under
its ceiling
and I was a guest 
without any feelings;
rumored to be alive,
caught in a contrived life
in spotted humanity.

A forward travel,
lockstep to fit in
and mingle;
a corset and squeeze 
my hellos,
struck by bright nothings 
that pollute semblances
of this wicked landscape.

Why not accept the dunce
hands?
washing grime 
and easel,
paints bakes
them all;
dim light of beautiful skies
hides more than shame
of mine.

Without the push,
you are the pond
and balance exists;
there is flaked,
there is imperfection,
and then I came to be
aware I am not the same,
as banished is her name.

She exists to love,
so many tries as
sometimes giving corrupts-
and no one knows soft
breath and perfect kisses
are somewhat gifts 
distilled from a hidden plane
of my giving sea.