pink shirt worn over-the-top tight,
   tough wrists and eyes closed
   shut I kiss the hair on your fingers, trailing
   hopefully
                    up
    to your forehead.
silver-lining smile tightens angelically, lifts up
   bright, bodacious, beautiful nose and he's
   denied its magnificence every time but he
   forgets its consumption of every piece,
          every pinch,
   it has touched.
 handsome hello's and soft chuckles float
   down over me, words spill with such
   delicacy and I can't hear it,
     it's a voice of
     the gods.
  story-sharing hands of the royal drop
    upon my hands and knees, he's kissed me,
    I feel the beating
    quick, my eyes won't resist when I ask them to;
    please, can you just learn
      your place.
   open wide, I see a beaming light of divine
    devotion, righteous revere believing spiritual
    sublimity and it's standing before me,
    faithful before me, and I'm not
    sorry I was always
    crafted to love you.
     even angels are
    desperately in need of
       true love.
  bright golden eyes fall quietly on the
   triangles in my nose, take in the barriers of the
   heart and commit to years above my
   toes and, though my eyes are still bleeding and I can 
   no longer see, we're standing together with our
   wrists intertwined. I'm not sorry I was
   crafted to love you, for
    
 even angels are
    desperately
    in need of
       true love.

Published by Charlotte Griffiths