The glint of gold
Brings beads of water
Not from the pool of nectar
But from the depths of my soul

The temple of memories
Of contented wonder
Burned by the heat
Streaming in the humid air

Blessed water
Let it cleanse your soul
And heal your heart
Forever with a glint of gold

If I sketched an angel without wings
would you be able to tell
she’s an angel?
The sky behind her would be pale yellow
The world below, gray
Like the color of the outline of her frame
I’d describe her face as angelic
Which is supposed to give it away
But maybe you’d only say she looks nice