She believes in
the existence of angels,
and her breasts are soft
as an all-enveloping kiss.
But she is the only angel
in which I believe,
her eyes beaming in modesty,
her beauty both in body and spirit,
her grace as naked
as the day she was born:
I throw this poem up
to the sky,
like an offering of grain -
like a hallowed dove, released
from the quick white
of my bird-like soul.
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