the one before

lips smell like stained glass
emblazened archangels wielding fire

skin dances you know
when not looking to strike
down from the heavens

and dreams are like that
I'm not sure why

vivid details of craft
composition and form
delicate fingers in cold gloves

I don't waste time searching
perfection is self-contained

one thing always confused me though
I can never tell when
angels are dancing or fighting

those bells ringing in my ears
clamoring ancient hymns

and love is like that
a timeless ritual banging away
oblivious and exhilerating

familiar and aching
older than the willow tree's skeleton

yet I hate how I feel so distant
like a star not yet formed
glimmering on the edge of existence

that sick sensation in my belly
release me or consume me

I want more than I want for