Long and lustful
Her hair scented
A faint air of rain
She looks so fine
In scorching black
And in a timid lace
An angel’s face
Her wings divine
Outstretched and poised
Feathered and dusted with grace
She comes before me
In all her radiance returning back
She is an ivory angel
Adorn in the deepest scorching black
And as the ashes fall,
From above and up from beneath
I open my mouth
To taste of the fragments
The tensions and the slack
I consume her remnants
The pallid salty remainder
Of the pale angel
Ascending from the scorching black
The Bottom Shelf Review 
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