September part 1

The angels can't fly anymore.

They are useless husks of dream,

hanging from the skyscrapers

like finished shriveled leaves.

I fell asleep inside you,

and the angels cannot fly.

I kissed your holy shoulder

full of stars with unclean lips.

I stared into your tennis shoes

soft forgotten light.

I wrung the darkness from

my sleeves.

I tied my scarf into purposeless

knots.

I believed in gods inside your

glances in every smile you never

gave.

I don't love you,

but I want you,

and the angels cannot fly.

Your crumpled sadness is a temple.

Your meaningless fits

of self are worship songs.

I'd like to Golden you with my lips

for seven hours

to salvation you every morning

with my bare and blighted hands.

But God cannot be fired,

and the angels cannot fly.