I swear
I could've drawn
Angles on your cheeks—
Tracing your freckles
With the tips of my fingers.

You'd laugh
And start to cry.
From the warmth
In our touch, I suppose.

You'd try
To brush my hand away.
But I know you're sensitive
To the spark in our love.

It's too late though
When I realize what I've sone.
Now only Angels fly away
From the demons on your face.
My hands are cursed.

I swear, I didn't know.