By sarah dragonfleyes@excite.com
Date: 18 February 2001
of angels
they would speak of angels
before the sun would rise, and the night was filled with smokey clouds.
they would dream, and reminisce about a life they never lived. what they wish had happened,
and why they were where they are now. they let the night nurture itself on candle light.
feeding off of them from time to time, with a glass of red wine, maybe a kiss of a nipple.
they would turn to the window, seeking solace in the diminishing light of stars. could they win sometime?
they never knew. instead, they were wrapped in warm wet white sheets, tangled in the sweat of their lovemaking.
the sound of drunken friends was evident outside the open window, on the cobblestone street.
laughter filtering from open doors. the night lush in its humidity, blanketed in the wanton desire that comes with youth.
they were young, and they were losing their dreams. finding a path that was not what once drove them to far away shores.
their hearts opened then, and everything drained from them. pitching themselves into an abyss where emotion bound them
to the tethers of their solitary desires and lives. then when their hearts had been strained, and denied of the truth
they found themselves seeking, they heard the angels. whispering with the crickets.
tracing their lips with their etheral song. they hinted their beauty in the fading frescoes that adorned
nostalgic alleyways. their voices seeking a wanderers ear, but they were most vocal in the early morning.
and they would speak of angels
then fall asleep, in mornings door.
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