|
Sex Angel
Well, this is the first poem I've posted on here. Ha, ha. I'll admit I'm a little nervous. The piece is very personal, but constructive criticism is, of course, always appreciated.
Sex Angel
Angel—oh, majesty,
feathers flying with me:
beautiful, cascading moonlight,
my wings, you say.
I am an angel.
Flesh is heated,
touching yours—oh!
Pure is an angel,
am I?
Pure sex. Sexy purity.
Your hands on my thighs,
how angelic!
But I am chaste,
between lap dances
in the shady corner,
where I smoke my cigarettes,
my rings soaring,
sitting sweetly atop my head:
my halo!
But weeping red ink,
I am not singing
anymore. Never did.
You, with a bullet
in your broken skull,
am I still “Angel”?
It was suicide, they say;
and I’m sure,
I held the gun.
A shot fired (just once)
for sex,
to end it all—
No more from your seraph
of midnight lace
and orgasmic elation,
the one that tastes of lilacs,
with blood on her wings.
|
