The one

I’m not looking for someone perfect,
but someone who would trade empty pots
on the windowsill for a good synecdoche
rather than fill them with jade plants;
someone who passionately navigates
through crowded bookshelves and empty
beaches full of sand-coloured pages;
someone who spices bread with a pinch
of Catullus and a dash of Khayyam.
That is the one I would struggle with,
because there are always some struggles,
and finally find out what Winger’s
boomshakalaka means.

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