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Jan 2016
At night we were a fresco 
painted by an astronaut, our 
messy bed the chapel of a
voyeuristic God, where glory 
worked with hurried hands
in frenzied fellowship and
hallelujah was a sigh that
quivered on my lips, then we
nodded off like angels of our
own apocalypse; it was made-up
love, when we woke up,
the dreamed up stuff of kids.
A refurbished oldie. Feeling nostalgic.
Marsha Singh
Written by
Marsha Singh
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       Michael S Simpson, ---, ---, ---, Marshal Gebbie and 37 others
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