Release the hounds.

Heaven has its dents.
I'll let you know, you aren't perfection,
But you're close,
and that will do, for me.

I'm finding happiness doesn't come as tidy as it leaves;
It rises from the memory
Of the hundred sorry nights
you just had to survive.

And congrats, you're still alive,
but it's gone again.
A hundred more.
A giant mess stretched on the floor.

You can set the wolves upon us now.
They'll run us down, but we can drive.
Do you know how you will die?
You'll be alone, but not tonight.

S. 

{Photo: Search-the-Wolves Flickr}