Should we not lie down,

and offer ourselves prone to the angels?

Let their essence flow over us,

and clean us to brittle bone and worn insides,

have them kiss away our pains with soft tipped feathers?

Should we not empty ourselves for them?

Give them vessels both willing and supple?

And let them wash our feet and our hair,

and bathe us in milk and honey?

Let them raise us.

Let them lift us up and breathe into us life.

Let them chew on our flesh with delicate maws,

and suck the marrow from us,

slice the through our muscle with sharpened teeth?

Should we not kneel?

Kiss their pale feet as they rub hot blood into our skin,

and suckle from our mouths?

Should we not let them mark us with broken wings,

and paint us as demons,

and let them call down on us our sins and misgivings,

and wash us through with fire,

until there is nothing left?

The souls of us burned out with divine prejudice?

Should we not lie down,

and submit to these false angels?