From the Vault: Angel Wings (A Poem from 7/22/03)

Angel wings, freshly painted in shades of white

Characteristically flawed and sitting in the corner

He places them at right angles in his tortuous sleep

As their shadows fly away

She whispers in his ear when morning comes

Backlit scene of a red bordello shining in her eyes

When he awakes she always disappears

The angel wings never speak

A painting hangs on the far wall, shrouded in darkness

Except when she is present and I am not

He created it in watercolor, a testament to brevity

The painting is of me

Dark brown ringlets framing a hollow-cheeked face

Eyes always on the angel wings in the other corner

A quiet soul captured in a brief moment of repose

Before the end of love

She takes the wings and places them on her back

As he screams silently in his fractured consciousness

Three steps and she is airborne and circling

Then she takes to the sky

And I am left in the shadows.


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