Through a rift in the atmosphere, found with a purpose
still so enthralled, the angel crawls
to the edge of the night
and looks down.
Hell is as much a metaphor in heaven as it is on Earth:
“Close enough,” he decides, as he surveys what he’s found.
Earthly delights is what he’s after –
smoking and drinking; music and laughter.
He thinks of himself as a rogue player, wandering adventurer
The ladies adore him, his rugged handsomeness
his smooth caress.
With his wings folded tight, he blends right in
among the cacophony of celebration
the nightlife and parties, the sin.
You see, he grows bored with heaven
all its pureness, so tame.
He craves the soiled imperfections
the struggle and the game.
Which is why he often finds himself in a lovely stranger’s bed
enjoying earthly pleasures; letting his passions be fed.
Sometimes his wings are discovered – with shocked delight and glee!
But until the morning light they are difficult to see.
Which is why before the dawn returns
he must make his exit swift.
His lover sleepily calling, “Gabe…..”
as his wings give him lift.