Here then is the black angel, wings stiff as crinoline and singed at the edges as if she flew into the flame then back out again. And still, she lives. She is alive. Her limbs are much too thin to hold a man, an infant, anything, but her wings are big. This woman can fly. Her halo’s gone missing, perhaps burned up to smoke and ashes when she braved the fire. Instead, extending from her head, antennae delicate and anticipant, sensitive to the slightest movement, feeling the air currents like the skin of a woman in love.
5 comments:
Gosh, that's lovely and scary at the same time. Like love.
Yes, just like love.
Oh and Laurel this ONE is mine.
It's beautiful.
Specimen Wriggling on a Pin
Here then is the black angel,
wings stiff as crinoline and singed
at the edges as if she flew into the flame
then back out again. And still,
she lives. She is alive. Her limbs
are much too thin to hold a man, an infant,
anything, but her wings are big.
This woman can fly. Her halo’s gone
missing, perhaps burned up to smoke
and ashes when she braved the fire.
Instead, extending from her head,
antennae delicate and anticipant,
sensitive to the slightest movement,
feeling the air currents like the skin
of a woman in love.
Oh that is wonderful, thank you...
How gorgeous. All of it.
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