A thin red curtain over the window, on a cold January afternoon,
Snowy and buried white, dim sky, through the curtain seems holy,
Like stained glass in a cathedral; is not what we do now true, pure?
Your body thin and lithe and strong, small breasts flattened against me.
Your short hair I run my fingers through, your pale lips taste of starlight.
I worship with kisses and tenderness, and I can feel angel’s wings,
From your back and your soul and the eerie purity of our mad devotion.
This room with the overactive heater making our bedroom hot and
Suffocating and making us feel safe from winter and death and loss
And as if this perfection is all there is, just us and stardust and love.
Unmarried but I belong to you, you to me, and us to the angels.
And for this cold afternoon, until the end of time, cherubim with
Flaming swords rotating watch the door and Archangel Michael
Has cast out Satan from our heaven, in one room, in one little
Town by ancient mountains, worn down by eons and seasons.
And angels indwell in us, and wings wrap us, we wrap each
Other and pull close and sweat out the poison in love making
And sweltering heat and the holy and candied light of the thin
Red curtain, and our devotion to the light and love and heaven above.
Love is all there is here. Love is all there is, forever.