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

-although-

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

BE

perfect.