You said she never had a moral compass; a pretty solid own.
But maybe he who is without sin should cast the first stone.
Still anger at people from high school, twenty years ago.
I would like to talk of other things, like angels we’ll never know.
I look away, sigh at the waitress with the pretty orchid tattoo.
The night before one had one of a mermaid, green eyes, tail blue.
Sex is the blade that sliced open my throat, innocence without grace.
I know sex breaks our souls, but orchids heal, and she could touch my face.
Tomorrow we see aliens, the nouvelle vague Fae, tales of taken blood.
Made to be cattle and soul energy, not like our Adam of wind and mud.
I wish you didn’t sit in judgement of the world, you’re no bright light here.
The Fae live in the sky now, and in haste, they’ll make me cry and disappear.