The Angel’s Share

Taken over time 
the innocence we wept 
whispered breaths 
upon the wind 
Droplets of spoken words 
upon cataract panes 
overlooking the streets 
of bedroom strangers
and one night cheap hotels
The barmaid smiles
and leans toward you
pressing a sweaty glass
into your dry, shaking hand
“Drink,” she whispers
in a smoky voice
that scratches the
hidden spaces
of your warmest itch
“to life,”
She tilts her own glass
of clinking ice and bitters,
“it is all that remains
after the Angels have taken
their share.”


© Christopher Raine