My Porch

The view from my porch faces east. I, the poetic saint, look up at a black sky, every star covered by a cloud that is as impenetrable as your pain. Standing in the spot where I fell for the angel, I look up and around trying to see some kind of hope that light will shine through. Feeling none, I return to my haven upon the porch. Bells ring and the angels voice is in my ear. Telling me of her sorrow, I feel at a loss for words. Apologizing for what I can’t control and wanting to have a hand in her emotion, I can only say how I feel.

Ever since that night we found north and our lips found each other, it’s been all I could do to keep myself from sneaking away to her house every night just so I could hold her in my arms. To throw rocks at her window. To wake her up with a sweet serenade.

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