Visions of Wings and Feathers

And what of love? It’s smeared all over your walkways. Your streets. Your polluted air is thick with its heavy weight, with the scent of millions, with the sweat of lover’s palms as each searches ravenously for the other. Away from your prying eyes. Lost inside. Missing part. Never find. I have been humiliated by you. By what I feel for the fruit of your loins. With his old eyes. I have borne the words with dignity and pride. But I know now that they are eating away inside. It’s slow. Delayed reaction? They get heavier. Their meaning reaches further. The implications. They get deeper. I am not healing. I am not dealing. I am denying on the outside. Too afraid to look in. To discover the damage. The wreckage. That you so simply caused. So easily. So casually. Destruction. I looked numb. I felt numb. I feel him. I see him. He is fragile. Like an angel. I see through his layers. His colours. I can almost touch them, that’s how real they are to me. You have poisoned our auras. As they merged now shall they sever. Because I do not heal. Because I do not deal. Because I KNOW we are helpless in the face of such power. Possession. Nine tenths. Where is your tenth claw resting? In my back? Pray, let me turn around. Who is he? To me? Heaven knows. He is my missing rib. Not I his. Baby you’re so fragile. You’re so fucking fragile. It’s a great show. A great show you put on. But I can see through you, I never had so much vision.