Cherub

I'm made of ink and mildew.

Become what I am
fly dying on the windowsill
son of a burning ram
a burnt-up firework thrill.

In the half-light
will he see me?
The way I walk at night
this soul, a big empty sea.

Big brown eyes
look back from all I do,
shine down on lilac skies
burn down the outline of a neck tattoo.

I weep to a god
made of cherubs and ink,
biblical floods as I am thawed
under a cold bathroom sink.