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My Archangel
You're a falling Angel.
 A black crow's feather
 Falling from above into the palm of my hand
 Drifting, left behind
 By the wings of Death;
 By the bodice of a thousand beauties,
 A thousand black hearts' cries.
 You're Juliet's happy dagger
 Locked behind the bars of a thousand jails
 Though you sit just behind that sheath of glass.
 Teasing, frozen in that block
 Of ice, never to be melted.
 You're a falling Angel.
 You're an Archangel.
 My Archangle, Gabriel;
 My personal Wrath of God.

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