I am thinking of you as I type these little words
out, sculpting them finely in order to perfectly
grasp your essence. With your sun kissed skin
and wicked eyes, devilish smile;
two tiny flicks to peel layers off of my wings.
That white was too haggard for me anyways-
it doesn’t shine like you do in the darkness;
doesn’t simmer, make me want to grovel
on my knees, benedictions on my tongue.
I very well could have given it up for you,
spent years writing of my devotion,
but these lines will never do you justice.
Éloa 
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