I could've drawn
angels on your cheeks—
tracing your freckles
with the tips of my fingers.
you'd laugh
and start to cry.
from the warmth
in our touch, I suppose,
you'd try
to brush my hand away,
but I know you're sensitive
to how our love sparked
a certain way.
it's too late though,
when I realize the things I've done.
now only angels fly away
from the demons on your face.
my hands are cursed;
I swear I didn't know.
A&G
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