Imperfection

For image breaking 
I exile myself 
for one half-god 
to lick my scars. 

I have not touched 
you even for ages― 
in words. 
The door knobs remained unturned. 

I let go the dust. Time 
was not ripe for me. 
Still I have to 
find my eternal muse. 

I will strive, will 
look around, to smell your― 
presence. A warrior 
always waits for the graceful exit.