Sigh
07-15-2001, 04:00 AM
In heaven
dirty angels sit
on cold streets
smoking cigarettes
the work-bell never rings
and sunlight warms
their faces
evening brings coffee
in tin mugs, steaming
a sack to sleep on
next to a woman
whose broad hips
press against your wings.
dirty angels sit
on cold streets
smoking cigarettes
the work-bell never rings
and sunlight warms
their faces
evening brings coffee
in tin mugs, steaming
a sack to sleep on
next to a woman
whose broad hips
press against your wings.