Birdwatching and Other Wayward Realms
By: ShinigamiForever

A/N: The title tells you a little about what I was doing when I thought this up, doesn't it?

Truly.
Because angels I have searched for,
and they come with amber eyes and dark brown hair
and because
Their hands are touched with bits of broken silk.
And because
angels I have searched for
and they come with silver blue hair and light frost blue eyes.

So lifting up
a little container of light yellow gold lenses
bending beams of light into my eyes
so I can make out
the echoes of angels
in indigo bunting purple and crow black.
Silver, like my angel's hair.

There is a red head beside me
and we plot world domination
by discussing Asia and Europe
and history long forgotten. I suppose
none of us know history very well.
We pull our references from sterilized text books.

Cannot catch the plate of moonlight
when it slips
and there is nothing but soft ultraviolet
rays?
Then try the wishing well
Down the road to sodomy
which none of us ignore nor consider.

Flayed toes and slender bird-like fingers
that dart between a frame of gilded emeralds.
I pat down Indian spices
in the air in hopes the incense will catch flames.

So he is beautiful.
It should not take my breath away.

What would I not give to be like
Ophelia and drown myself with lilies and pond water.
A black spiderweb necklace strung around my throat.
Where is a dried patch of dusk roses and daises
where I can rest my feet and inhale
the tired soft scent of fragrant moonlit snow?

A petal of a flower.
A feather of a bird.
A fleck of pencil lead.
A strand of hair.

I must go.