I throw ****** feathers aside,
looking for the fallen angel,
whose wings have vanished
into thin air.

I don't think
she remembered what it was like
to be holy,
but God,
did she emminate it.

Her blood held crucifixes,
gold chains,
still chains.

Eyes held heaven in their capture,
and she holds me
in captivity.

I found her above dark grounds,
but with gold dust of an old halo.

Am I blessed with her,
or cursed to admire from afar
for eternity.

Her pure soul,
not to be tainted with
my mortal hands.

To be simply in her presence,
is
heaven
enough.