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

heartbreaking slayer.


The ladies adore him, his rugged handsomeness

irresistible charm

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.


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