By kevin urenda
Date: 3 March 2001
the angel I only dreamt of
my angel rises in the morning
with serious bedhead
rubbing the sleep out of her eyes
with my old sweatshirt
which she puts on
so I won't notice
her wrinkled wings
she speaks softly to me
when my reality is seriously
out of shape
puts me on an emotional cross-training program
by reminding me what I need to know most
at the low moments
in the now moments
I am loved
by her
03.03.01
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