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daylight return to me and do anoint each scar with blooms, a thicker skin to grow o'er a weary heart where cupids point rests like lead sunk into snow. the sky shows signs of clarity and yet no words fall from your lips like rain to cleanse the scum from where we last had set down our words to rot so I refrain from once again spilling vinegar, when I should be pouring fragrant wine. Mere echoes left I see our burned out star. what was but never really mine. My cup is dry from how night drains and with no sun, too tender when it rains