Perfect Woman

Perfect Woman

 

You ask me if I love you just as I’m walking out the door,

talk for what seems like hours,

though my eyes are staring blindly down at the floor.

Something’s not quite right, I’m fighting not to fight;

this discontinuity ain’t what it ought to be.

 

You phone me from a friend’s house, I can hear the smile upon your face,

call again, you're alone,

can’t you hear the way you talk to me, that’s a disgrace.

Something’s not quite right, I’m fighting not to fight;

this discontinuity ain’t what it ought to be.

 

You tell me to do things, you don’t trust my point of view,

I decline, you don’t need to listen: I’m not right in the same way as you.

Something’s not quite right, I’m fighting not to fight;

this discontinuity ain’t what it ought to be.

 

I dream of leaving you to get to love’s pure simplicity.

I see love revealed through you in all its glorious complexity.

Anyway we’ve got the one thing on which we agree:

you are the perfect woman.

 

You were a lover, a mother, now I need a friend to hold open the door,

someone to do much more than those things that only you can do for sure.

Something’s not quite right, I’m fighting not to fight;

this discontinuity ain’t what it ought to be.

 

I come home, through the door, I've got a smile just for you;

you forget, each time we meet, our love can start anew.

Nothing’s won the fight, something somewhere’s right;

this discontinuity’s got right through to me.

 

I dream of leaving you to get to love’s pure simplicity.

I see love revealed through you in all its glorious complexity.

Anyway we’ve got the one thing on which we agree:

You are the perfect woman,

the perfect woman, for me.

 

© 2009 Duncan McCanlis