Out with an Angel | Articles | the bombsite

I wait.
I am impatient with anticipation.

She arrives with angelic innocence, smiling.
She is tired.
She lies down.
She sleeps.
I listen and wait again.
I am no longer impatient.
She is here.

She awakens and we drink and talk.
I am attentive.
Then we leave.

The blonde angel is driving.
Her mind is an enigma.
It is child-like, inquisitive and intelligent all at once.
I am protective, informative and receptive all at once.
I sit beside her.
I cannot occupy the same space so I am content with proximity.

The distance flows past like the breeze.
We arrive and go in.
She cooks whilst I watch.
I am excited watching her.
We eat and listen.
Then we leave again.

I watch the Angel’s face as she drives.
Butterflies make me smile inside.
She looks at me and I smile outside.

The city is dark but lit.
My naked skin tingles in the warm air.
She walks beside me.
If it were freezing I would still be warm in her glow.

The venue is loud and crowded.
Black is the colour of the day.
We descend to the cellar and the sound changes.
It is my sound.
I vibrate.
We find space and occupy it.
We drink, we talk, we listen.
She gets up to dance and I watch again.
She lets her hair down.
Surely an angel incarnate.
She comes back to me and we leave.

The distance is the same but seems shorter.
This will soon end.
We stop.
We hug.
I exit.
She leaves.
I go to bed.
I am lying where she lay earlier.
I am occupying her space.
I am partially consoled.
Still, I am alone again until the next time she breathes my air.