Scenes in the life of a lesser angel

I borrow wings from other angels, coast

the streets to find feathers loosely attached

to slender silver ties. With care, I close the catch

and fasten cardboard stiffened form so close

I cannot breathe or fly for the air

pushed out into a world in masquerade.

I am African. I am goddess with flare

sounding the trumpets. I call out God.

Meaning changes like sea water in storm.

I part the crowds until, beaten, my wings

fly, fall, litter the streets. I cradle the newborn

twins and realize that I am fallen,

a lesser angel, wingless and depressed.

I am seductress unpetaled, undressed.

II.

dress her navel in lotus flowers

to swim in the pool of her abdomen

twine orange blossoms in her hair

and smell the scent of oils and natural perfume

kiss her nipples so that they become pyramids

wet from a summer rain of tongue

press her down into soft linens with hard

body folding into hers like tributary waters

warm her hands against heated chest

that covers drum rhythms resounding

men, worship your women this way

women, flush at the adoration

and you will know how I feel

when he touches my hand