Her and I sit on top of the empty building, high above the city.
The sun is almost down, and the sky is a deep lavender blue.
The lights of the city spread before us, jewels we can never steal.
In our red hoodies, hoods up, and thin jeans and torn up sneakers,
we snuggle close, my arm around her shoulders, her head on mine,
silent, and knowing we are powerless against the powerful ones.
Her hair is silky, and soothing, my face filled with strawberries
of her scented shampoo, as I lay my cheek against her head, as
she lays her head on my shoulder, as we wait for the veil to thin.
The sun is gone, and all the stars are down on the ground, not up
in the sky above, and even with the vantage of angels, and pure hearts,
we cannot change that we can only react to the devils, not divert them.
But on Halloween, the veil is thin, and we can call the angels to us,
with flaming swords and snow white wings and golden, glowing eyes,
if we can draw the right blood from our palms, the right tenderness in touches.
We huddle close on top of an abandoned building, the city below, bright, gold.
Just us for us in this world, the strung and broken cabal of few friends,
and the riches of purity and love, that can be stolen so easily by power.
I kiss her head, that strawberry scent soothing and aching, without hope.
She squeezes my middle, tightly, as I might fly away, or jump into the void.
It should be cold on Halloween, when the veil is thin, and we dare to hope.