Of Humans The Stains They Leave
Angels without knees
aprons spotless starched
as beards of saints
complain of humans
the stains they leave
Overheard
between the fork
and spoon obscenely
crossed
one angel to another:
They call it love
what we are supposed
sublimely to sing of
but frankly all that
pushing and shoving
faces in agony the
cries and curses all
that pulling at flesh
bruised as the moon
this can't be love
We stand without legs
the better for it but
for these we must attend
bent over their plates
greedy to have at each
other again to marriage
beds one last time
And then the singing
begins
an eternity
songs about dirt
about longing to return
how all hurts there
mean something
after all
poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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