My Seraph Talks in Her Sleep

Each wing rests lazily
next to me
as I rest next to she,
Counting burnt feathers
I never reveled in
while we lay together.

I count one
     and begin my evening prayer
I count two
     and gather nighttime strength
I count three
     and softly travel my fingers across   her chest
I count four
     and exhale coolly over her right cheek
I count five
     and fingertip my way to her lips
I count six
     and kiss her soft-skin back where wings do not protrude

It would be rude of me
to awaken her as she sleeps
Yet she talks to me
as her eyelids rest so wearily
           extolling her pain,
                 her poisonous pain,

In my arms she whimpers
     My seraph whispers
In my arms tonight.