Maybe this is the moment of realization that will give me reason. Instead of keeping your picture under piles and piles of books, and empty cigarette packs. My tables and my shelves and my counters are cities of bottles. The Burning Angel Seraphim Alcohol kisses me, I feel her warm tongue in my throat. No one can caress my mind as you have. No once can slow it down enough. Your necklaces are still broken. Beautiful silver chains that glimmer in morning sunlight, and shine at noon. If I throw them in the river, if I throw them in the sea. Your Necklace Your picture all so easily gained are not easily lost. I want to throw them from this moving car. To lie and rust on the roadside. I cannot bring myself to do it. I cannot put the picture in the fire because it calls to me in words uknown; pulling me back to that which I no I have no part. You are a seraphim. Let not me see your feet in the holy of holies. Your eyes are two coals that burn a terrible glow, yet they soothe me in my dreams. They call to me with the thick voice of incense.
I will find the space between us is a great void Parting and parting us for ages to come I will watch you in the glowing of the heavens In the glow where dreams are true