my clumsy angel
lead me through this path
to retribution
with theses trembling hands
we grasp at empty air
and float on wings
made of frost and porcelain
high above the worries
of this mortal coil
and pass from one world
to the next in the blink
of an eye the glimmer
of a shadow that transitions
from one moment to the next
in the river of time
how long must i hold
my breath in anticipation
of a clash of wills
that leads to nothing but
the spread of and infectious
emotion
drift in the breeze
that smells like summer's grass
and cut to the heart
like a piece of glass