There's an angel in my bed but god's not there his hair not like yours
in my soup on my floor his voice not cracking as we argue my birthright
my sex the angel I won't return and when the wings smell of stale escapes
when the sheets slide down and we look at each other and the wings beat
against the bed as you cry out and I pierce the clouds - you came to take
me to heaven why do my words pass through your breast - god cried out but
you were to stay - not in love anymore -
angel - after
you have my child - I have an offer for it - I warned you -
god's got
less tears in him than an onion -
it's my half
of your body has the child -
shmoetry
Surrealism
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