Perfection is treated here as something that teases us. It hovers just out of reach, tugging at our thoughts and filling our heads, but it never lets itself be caught. The speaker seems to see it as a trick: it "beckons us closer" and then "steps backwards," as if it enjoys the chase. Words like "deceiving" and "conniving" make it sound almost like a person playing a cruel game.
The poem is built in short pairs of lines, each followed by a trailing line of single words ("Waiting, lingering..."). Those ellipses give a sense of dragging time and unfinished longing. The mood moves from restless and frustrated to bleak. In the last stanza perfection comes right up to us, which raises hope, and then "disappears." The final "Gone, forever..." feels like a door closing. Judging by the tone, the speaker feels worn down by striving for something that can't really be had, and the title's casual sign-off reads like a bitter goodbye.