A gash.
A patch.
A scar in dismissal of perfection.
A sweet talking method in the corner
of dark rooms filled with smoke and longing.
This is imperfection in honor of necessity,
the deep marring of order and cleanliness.
A fast solution
to the complex problem
of what’s buried within,
cold and angry,
festering with bother
and unsubtle need
that boils surfaces,
cracks careful accounts
and begs for the fast heal;
a swift resolution to mask caverns of hurt.