angel wings curled around golden hand with locks of hair intertwined in painted fingertips
our cold alcohol lived across the bar sign and told us in sweet dewdrops that love whispers
in the air, our dreams gathered and some of them shattered but we both grew stronger
seperate as two, we both grew stronger than any one knew because they were too busy
with their looks to bother asking about us, the simple trust we had could not be denied
through the years of manipulative strings unwound for us, but cherished by us, us last
of the lovers, truly caught in pencil without calculation, true fraught with angels singing
screams of torrid destiny about our ears, our destiny which we take as our own.

And we gathered flowers in the meadow where the fire of the sunset blared its trumpets
with the articles of joy.