‘She had Angels wings upon her back


She had Angels wings upon her back

 

Her long auburn hair rolled down her long slender back. The tattoos of a angel awoke my secret dreams and my nightmares. Her tattoos rolled down from soft neck to tender calves and feet.

 

She was a dancer and she was loved and appreciated. She was dancing to Bob Seger song “Night moves’. Making men wish for hell before accepting heaven.

 

She befriended me because she saw something different in my eyes. I was writing poetry while she danced and I caught her attention. She liked me because I had nothing to give and nothing left. This made her feel safe. She wanted hollow love and friendship.

 

She didn’t need money. Her income from dancing was enough, her perfect toned body moved to Leonard Cohen “A million kisses deep”. Tattoo of a black rose-bush rose from her calves to her back. Men paid deeply to have her nude body near and to feel the garden of her soft flesh against them.

 

I would drive her home. I brought Jack Daniels and some coke to her quiet apartment 20 miles from Fort Hood, Texas. She liked the lonely desert. It was spared with people and no-one cared who she was. She asked for me to read poetry and story to her. She like the classics. I would read the old love poetry from Donne and Ben Jonson.
I gave her what she needed. Poetry and kindness.

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My lady with the Angel wings upon her back

 

Reluctant kisses became accepted kisses.
The feast of ascending passion falling to fragile places where love had mourned.
Sober dreams are fragments of what we are.
Release isn’t true love. Just traces that we are still alive in some sense.
My lady with the wings of an Angel.
Can the dead be awaken?

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Pretty pictures

 

I remember sitting by the large bath tub.
You laid in the water demanding song and praise.
I read my poetry to you as you rest your eyes.
You had no sense of fear. You knew.
I have studies and examined your body from head to toe often.

 

I requested story and reason for every scar and tattoo upon your skin.
We were free and banished from slyness.
I told you. You are my pretty pictures.
Pretty pictures that will haunt my thoughts and dreams forever.

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She gave me a wink and she requested a back-rub. I touched and washed her Angels wings. I asked her why she covered the wings when she danced with her long hair. She smiled and whispered. I don’t have to give everything away. My Angel wings are for you. Even a dancer like to hide her last dreams and hope.

 

I remember her face when I told her I was leaving Fort Hood. She looked sad and disappointed. I asked her. What do you need from me? She smiled and told me. I want you to remember me and my Angel wings. You awoke me to laughter and long conversation. You left a mountain of poetry books for me to read and gifts of your  poems of love, hidden away for me. I want you to remember how you climbed my rose garden and made me sing. Remember we had each other for almost two years my Poet friend. You accepted me for who I’m. Love demand too much. You gave just enough. I told her. She was a good part of my life, her kindness made me write and find my imagination again.

 

I brought her close and we sat in silence. Sometime silence is better than words of goodbye.

Coyote/John Castellenas

Category : coyote poet, coyote poetry, John Castellenas, john coyote, poem, poet, poetry, Poetry and story
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