Less Than Angels

She is not what she was, unless I shut my eyes and see her with my heart.

Even in your silence

sitting in the glowing funnel

of the TV blaze,

 

petting your cat,

and drinking the next glass

of the same wine

that I have saved a dozen gallons

of corks from

to make an art project,

 

collapsing another bag of chips,

hitting another high score

on your angry birds collection,

and making sure to chill out

from working hard all day again

for the last 3,000 days,

I would kiss you if you'd let me. 

 

Not the peck

that goes to work

or the one that onlookers see

to make the appearance

of the relationship look solid,

 

but one that roles back the iron railings

on the train tracks

and thumbnails down

the radiant sense

of nostalgia

for those days

when we were more

than roommates

 

and only less

than angels

lost in some unutterable quest

for sanity

and a safe haven

from the blasting glaze

of lips and wet wisdom

never leaving bed.

 

runningturtle87