Only Air is Perfect

Only air is perfect.
The blouse is stained, the cat
unsatisfied,
the hinge that props up the window
has broken
and I dreamed that, at the edge of my bed,
a confused shadow was pulling me,
pulling me to the floor.
How rigid were the threads of my sheets!
And where was she but the bathroom,
the mirror, her lipstick.
Only air is perfect.