By celestial, angel_torn@hotmail.com
Date: 6 February 1999

A Mere Speck

under that ethereal steel moon, 
purple prose flowed as
steadily as a morphine
drip lulling the mind
into a creative
stupor
until exhileration rose
from behind the ninth
cloud of desperation
(the one with the
lining slightly tarnished),
and the angels sang,
sang for me, sang for you
(beware the muse is blind,
is young), as the
painting fades to black
and you evaporate with
one last kiss,
a mere speck among
a universe of experiences
and delights