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Angel White Lipstick |
What if I can't find the angel I saw at the Rodin Museum...
Was the angel real or existing only in imagination...
Mine... to be precise...
A visit to the museum...
Light crackles through an ivory mosaic in my mind.
Vague images...
Impressions...
I do remember kissing a platinum angel wing.
...Surreptitiously, of course.
...When other heads were turned away.
My intention was to capture the angel.
I did.
I revisit the Musee Rodin in my mind.
The Villa des Brillantes stands before me & I enter.
Unbeknownst to me an enormous angel appears behind me.
An aura...
Streaks of light encompass me.
...An opaline January day.
The light pools as gentle rain & glides down the chandelier above.
Outside in the garden I see the angel again.
Blurred, I am certain it has just moved or is perhaps a gateway.
Gate/ Gateway.
Did Rodin ever visit the depths through his portals of hell?
My thoughts are drifting...
I am uncertain if a glance from the nascent angel accompanies
me everywhere...
Or is it just a herald of an incipient migraine?
Yet, I live a mythic life amidst all the ordinariness of the everyday.
Surely this angel follows me because I kissed him.
People are stalked by the heavenly for far less.
I imagine that the angel is love with me.
The wrong kind of love...
Not to protect; to awaken experience...
To blast open the dreary millennium's angelic lights into every
orifice of psyche & cause...
To eradicate a profound discontent.
Does the angel know that I can see him?
His erotic manifestation of beauty seizes me with abject fear.
How can I ever accept...
Make do with an ordinary mortal after this?
Do other people see the flood of light purveyed by the Angel?
Do they wonder about my eyes which now glow supernatural blue?
I can never be content with less than divine now.
The angel desperately trails the erotic forever...
Difficult consequences for both of us...
Will we be friends and chit chat
via email?
Will he meet me for a frothy latte
that reminds him of the billowing heavens that he abdicated for me?
Don't even ask about any unfortunate children that might result from such a union.
A lady with pale hair pursued by heaven.
Light streams...
My glossy tendrils are wind, ocean...
a childhood daisy.
Yet, to him I am forever a seduction.
I kissed the angel with white lipstick.
He wears it now permanently and I am just his pale shadow.
copyright 2015
Diane
Dehler |
