Browsing the Bible for a passage on
an angel to limn love or freedom or
passion or an imprint in the melting
snow, all manner of emotions caught on
a wispy breeze soaring higher toward
paradise, bliss in their feather wings like
thin pages flipping over fingertips.
Such hope ascribed to simple desire –
it's addictive like arousal
and destructive all the same and
So, the perquisition persists on from
Gabriel to Uriel, Michael and
Metatron and I reached the cover so
woebegone as it closed and the Good Book
itself appeared to animate and yell:
"Angels had no fucking wings."