- NaPoWriMo # 16

This compulsion to become an ageless angel,

without a death in which to enjoy myself,

without pity for my name

or for my weeping bones.

Who does not possess a fire, a death,

a fear, something horrible,

even when it has feathers

even when it carries a smile

Sinister delirium to love a shadow.

A shadow does not die.

My love

only embraces what flows

like lava from hell:

a silent loggia,

ghosts with sweet erections,

priests made of froth,

and above everything else angels

beautiful angels like blades

that rise at night

to devastate hope.