You don't need wings to fly: An ode to you.

This one's about you, and your hands.

The way you smiled at me this morning, you dimmed all the stars and they fell out of the heavens.

God was jealous of you; your perfection shines more than the moon.

My bones are aching, my ribcage is heavy with your words, they're weighing down my heart.

Here, take it-I don't want it anymore.

I want you and I want something real.

Every word you speak is the language of God & God has a soft spot for poets.

Poets & Artists; you're both and he has a soft spot for you.

There's a hole in the sky, but we call it the sun.

You realize more than anyone that it's a window to heaven, & even you can't deny it, love.

That's the way the angels visit.

But this isn't about windows to heaven; it's about you and your feather skin, soft & pale, hair the color of beauty.

Angels can't be as beautiful as you, you shine brighter than the heavens.

You don't need wings to fly.

You only need your words.

Darling, God is jealous of your poems & He's jealous of the way you walk.

Talk to me again, & let me stare at your perfection.

This one's about you, and your hands.

Good hands; Good heart; Good soul.