the roar of an angel
calling out for perfection
ravaged, nought but skin
just a whisper
over lace white bones
is that a face?
or a grinning ivory skull?
is the angel perfect?
or a perverse imposter
of the woman I knew?
is she even here anymore?
or just a whisper in my ear
a brush through the maples at night
a chill wind in June


i can feel her sometimes
yelling screeching screaming
screaming in my ears now
while the rest of the world is silent
be perfect feel perfect touch perfect
taste perfect smell perfect