From time to time

I look for you

Maybe in the streets

Maybe in a shop

Maybe in some gathering

I’m attending

And just when I think

I’ve spotted you

I realize I haven’t

And continue looking

The search, though, is futile

I know it is

But don’t like it

Therefore don’t accept it

But there you have it—futility

Translate that into foolishness,

Foolhardiness even

From time to time

I look for you

Like an idiot in an aspic,

Or in his absurd repetition

It is a fruitless quest

Always failing me

For you don’t actually exist,

Nay

For you are perfect—

That Mr. or Miss Perfect

Alias

Perfection personified.