ANGELS ON CRACK

the new age has begun, and there is no place for the gods of old.

iniquity now holds court in the kingdom of fleeting pleasures pressed against heaving chests and dusty cheeks. the girls and the boys and the divine and the people are one in this merry-go-round of evanescent delirium and paper kisses drawn with lemon juice, and they scream.

the lights flash. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. and again. and again. and again.

the neon particles invade bloodstreams and stained fingers, and it calls to the others. come closer! they beckon to their wayward siblings, and man is inevitably drawn to dens of delight painted salt and chrome. it is not enough, they need contact. and so floating feet brush over rotten floorboards stained with spilled ichor and lime.

liquor is forgone tonight, for why get drunk on earthly matter when you can dip your tongue into heaven's ephemeral fountains hidden behind curtains of kohl?

skin on skin, fingers on fingers, lips on lips. the empyrean entities of the age make contact and neon charges the air. suddenly, you are brilliance branded blitzkrieg.

one could call you divine.

and why would they not? you, whose lips were gleaming white(but from what?) and eyes blown wide like a sinner finding religion in the sway of their lover's hips. you grin. and once again, you took my hand and led us back into the rapturous tides of neon lights and unbridled euphoric laughs.

the lights flash. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. and again. and again. and again.

pull me close, kiss me until i feel the gods' wrath on the back of my neck, until i am intoxicated on your scent. your fingers write ecstasy on my hips, and i am delirious.

the beings behind us pass around plastic bags borne of silver slip dresses and covert collusions coloured kat von d, but you and i pay the whispers no mind. no drug on this tainted earth could ever compare to the paradisiacal glory of your mouth slanted over the arches of my neck.

now kiss me, lover, until i see the galaxies that even the gods have not dreamed of.

the music is loud, the lights are low, and we are wonderland incarnate. what is man but facsimiles of the angels' divinity?

the lights flash. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. purple. blue. pink. green. red. blinding white. and again. and again. and again.

how could anyone doubt that we are perfection personified? i am heads thrown back, tears stained golden streaming down flushed cheeks, and the deafening sounds of trumpets heralding the new age of the angels. you are apollo's exaltation epitomised in the shafts of neon lights that pour through your lashes, exposed scleras washed down by silver tears and hidden stares, jaws clenched with every jolt the music sends down your spine.

our high waxes amaranthine, and i clutch desperately at the throes of delirium. please don't let this flimsy frenzy end.

lover, hold me in your arms again please, one last time. i don't want to forget the seraphic smirks you pressed against my lips. dance with me like heaven itself was crumbling from its very pillars. the music crescendoes, and hysteria sets in.

i am this close to losing the feeling of your splintered wings.

quick! kiss me again. our time is on its final grains of heartbeats. the ghosts are beginning to rise from the ground, and they demand my bones. your face is flickering from my plane of existence, and i, in the grandeur of my crazed eyes and white lips and sweaty fingers, take hold of your wings. i will snap them if need be, if only i could keep you close to me.