Far from perfect

Is it life's nature
to be far from perfect?
Or even sometimes far from good?
As far as suns in the galactic 'hood?

Or is it me,
and her?
Not loveless yet,
yet lacking.

Our old patterns emerging
smacking me in the head like fists converging.
And there's me: surprised by the brute force of their tenacity
every time.

How is it surprising?

Forgiveness ain't forgetfulness
and dense can grow
the jungle of the mind if left
unchecked.

But I'm no better than anyone.
And she's no worse.

Was there ever love between us?
Yes.
And compassion? Less.
Like the gentle touch of tenderness.

A companionship in solitude
we now seem to share;
no encircled arms, no sweet caress.

I long for love.