glad to be of service here,
to clear up a few
dangling sentences,
frigid constellations.
prisons for the pasture players,
it's easier to say
your heart will heal when
the pills are peeling your scars.
but just a wasted moment of ours
and you'd bluff this whole
stain into my skin.
scars that wait to win
us back,
chained and making these eyes at me.