Imago
Wings curved, perfect symmetry
pressed into the point where walls meet.
Standing between dark and light.
Eyes burning blue, imbibing fear.
Mouth curved, a mocking smile
taunting.
Fingers curved, clutching sheets
fighting spectral superstition
in the silent reaches of the night.
In corners, at the foot of the stairs.
Sepulchral. Blues eyes shining fire
haunting.
Skin prickling, senses alert, awakened
from dreams by its mute presence.
Blackness smothering light.
My dark aphonic angel.
Years later I discovered why
it desired my terror so ardently.
It saw shadows in me of its first love
Imago.
She never told, never spoke, except
in delirium, fever drenched, raving
of the dark angel outside her window
knowing that I too had been courted thus.
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