(“A poet who reads his own verse in public may have other nasty habits.” Robert Heinlein)
Angel invisible
But I see you nonetheless
Out of sight, in my mind
But why can’t I find
The courage to confess
Angel ethereal
But I feel you nonetheless
Out of reach, in my arms
But distant charms can’t give me
The courage to confess
Angel unreal
I need you nonetheless
Out of my life, in my dreams
All alone it seems without
The courage to confess
(inspired by late night Houses of the Blooded writing and the lovely Lady E____ who happened to be away when I came to call)