Scenes in the life of a lesser angel

I. I borrow wings from other angels, coastthe streets to find feathers loosely attachedto slender silver ties. With care, I close the catchand fasten cardboard stiffened form so closeI cannot breathe or fly for the airpushed out into a world in masquerade.I am African. I am goddess with flaresounding the trumpets. I call out God.Meaning changes like sea water in storm.I part the crowds until, beaten, my wingsfly, fall, litter the streets. I cradle the newborntwins and realize that I am fallen,a lesser angel, wingless and depressed.I am seductress unpetaled, undressed.II.dress her navel in lotus flowersto swim in the pool of her abdomentwine orange blossoms in her hairand smell the scent of oils and natural perfumekiss her nipples so that they become pyramidswet from a summer rain of tonguepress her down into soft linens with hardbody folding into hers like tributary waterswarm her hands against heated chestthat covers drum rhythms resoundingmen, worship your women this waywomen, flush at the adorationand you will know how I feelwhen he touches my hand