The Angel’s Share
Taken over time
the innocence we wept
evaporates
whispered breaths
upon the wind
Droplets of spoken words
condensate
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.”
RAINE REFLECTIONS
© Christopher Raine