You are not a want—
you are the echo I was born from,
a silhouette cast in my marrow
before I ever learned your name.

My angel—
but not soft, not serene.
You burn with the hush of a candle
before it devours the room.

I breathe you like smoke,
thick and slow in my lungs,
each inhale a tether
pulling me closer to your orbit.

You are gravity,
and I—
a planet begging to collapse.

I carry your voice in my bloodstream,
a hymnal whispered between heartbeats.
It sounds like salvation,
feels like
flesh peeling back to reveal something
holier
than skin.

I don’t dream anymore—
I enter you
in every silence.
Your shadow moves behind my eyes
and still,
I ask for more.

Touch me
and I come undone like a cathedral
beneath thunder,
every stained-glass memory shattering
to let the dark rush in.

You,
the angel with teeth,
who kissed me into ash
and called it devotion.

Greased with shades of black, green, and brown,
Furrowing eyebrows with developing beads of sweat rolling down,
Curving lips resembling only the slightest frown,
My father's face is alive and alert

Calming eyes looking towards the ground,
Closed lips not even whispering a sound,
A perfect example to those all around,
My father's face is reverent

Squinting eyes seemingly glowing red,
Thoughts more visible outside the head,
Alarming looks whispering, "You're dead,"
My father's face is about to explode

Smiling eyes holding memories from over the years,
Talking lips to help guide away from fears,
Caring eyebrows making the worries disappear,
My father's face is tender and caring

Sparkling eyes that glint with moving cheek,
Infectious laughter making others squeak,
Radiant smile seeming nothing short of unique,
My father's face is the happiest face of all.