I see you through little angels. You see, as they flit past, or maybe glide… I don’t know. They work as a screen of your beauty that nobody else ever gets to see but me. I used to worry that you would speak your beautiful words and the angels would fly from your mouth and somebody else would see you but me. And I knew they would instantly fall in love with you. Because that’s the only thing you can do when you see something that beautiful and strange. Once I lit a fire in my fireplace when you weren’t home. I had forgotten to open the chimney up. The apartment filled up with black smoke. I was coughing and as I looked around me in the liquid darkness I realized that your words are like chimney smoke billowing about. But they give me a high, not a headache and a burnt throat. I opened the widows and the smoke poured out onto the street. Somebody called the fire department. I don’t think I ever told you about that. Maybe I was a little embarrassed; maybe the smoke left me with an uncanny sad feeling. But it was in my lungs instead of in my heart. I haven’t felt that for a long time.