gothic angels live in the wind
their hearts empty in cathedral domes
with company of oblique curved devils
in a glass menagerie
with rosemary flowers on their hair
eyes of moon -glow of cursed opals
and bloodstones
untouched and pure emerald golden
passionless bodies ethereal of fallen angels
with mirages of rainbows
i write my next poem on their skin
rubbing their bones gently

their carnal fields so full of light

but in darkness they have no elegance
only monotonous absence
of endless naked breath of desire
that sweep across of my gothic soul

the rain arrowing their ascetic mountain
wind, wind, their enemy of floral still life
of butterscotch and thyme
the other blue pale and white wind
strips the tear of fields that are rolling

angels and devils shadows of pure beings
and i an illuminated soul to the road of ecstacy