Wings, all I can hear are----

[alasanon]

musing-

she has a silent answer
to his unspoken riddle
the one he hides beneath
a dusty feather pillow

the words she speaks
nothing more than leaves
spinning in a dry breeze
hoping to fly out and up, up--

his empty nervousness appeals
with all the strength he hopes
will allow him to touch her
here, there, gently, roughly,

the surface is warm, he thinks
but the inside so cold it burns
(she remembers those words from
dappled celluloid memories)

his answer shocks her
into speaking once
with all the heart she can muster:
I am no angel, but a girl, a girl, a girl