Wicked Angels

I spread my arms out to the darkness and welcome it with a love that the stars have never known. Sitting in my little halo room, hanging on the windowsill, I glance out at you two floors up. Water cascading down around your bare shoulders you know no one is watching; but a cursory glance out the small and foggy pane exposes this young and dark bohemian with dragon eyes and gypsy smile. You cut your emerald green lance across the small expanse between our souls and it is known that love is all around; and the magic that surrounds the two of us is one made of cool night and imperial conquest. Together in our oneness it takes but a moment to realize you’ve betrayed the old world and thrown out the threadbare shoddiness of yesteryear.

Hands reach out toward a midnight sky lit with the purple twilight of young lovers. They grasp each other by touching only the air, and it speaks so softly only a poet could ever understand what the wind was saying. It coos in both ears, deep below skin and touch where only the mad rush of youth and blood can breathe. You shiver. I watch. Wings spread above, between, below, within and out behind both of us as we clash like wicked angels where only heaven and hell are permitted to battle. Are you truly so pure? Are we able to believe in our old innocences?

We offer our arms out to the darkness and receive it with a laugh that defies the devils of all worlds. Twisted smiles and thorned souls prick out the clean ones and leave only the beauty and raging blacklight inferno of this symphonic supernova. Towers sway to the composition and searing solo of your body versus the night as you sing to the backdrop of a crescendo rising, rising and crashing down into you until music is only whispers lost in the fog.