• I look up at the trees, my sight ventures over the stars.
    I peek at my watch, and curse those lunar cars.
    But I imagine my wings, and how it's like to sore.
    This is all routine, I've done this all before.
    He should be making his secretive rounds very soon.
    Nights where father time licks at the crescent moon.
    The nights like these, they're nothing more than black.
    I know, by now, there is no going back.
    I hear the cold wind howling, cursing at the sky.
    Then I hear those wings, beautiful enough to fly.
    I snap my head up and listen for it again.
    And then I hear it, the only sign of my friend.
    My eyes flit around, adjusting to the night.
    I can see him now, he's in my sights.
    Wing's flap slowly, not fast enough to hear.
    But he tells me I am chosen, that's why I have no fear.
    He lands so softly, his taloned feat only glint.
    That small, angelic chuckle, is my only hint.
    He walks slowly forward, laugh growing weaker.
    I can't take the scrutiny and stare town at my sneaker.
    He reaches my figure, looming over me like a tower.
    His moist breath washes over me like a shower.
    I feel his cold hand cup my cheek.
    My knees buckle, automatically going weak.
    He catches me in a warm embrace.
    His chest envelopes my ice cold face.
    It's nights like these, I love that we're alone.
    Just him and I, until he must fly home.
    I will miss him until next time.
    But, if that is the price, I'll commit this crime.
    I feel the sobs travel through my veins.
    He holds me tight, like he's in soul shattering pain.
    I look up at his face, only to see-
    His eyes are phantom white, and they're peering down at me.
    I can sense his home is calling, they must want him there.
    I pound on his chest and scream 'this isn't fair'.
    But he holds me still, willing me to stop.
    I just sob louder, and onto my knees I drop.
    Holding onto his trench coat, not wanting to say farewell.
    Because these are the times, we both go through hell.
    He wrenches my grip loose, and stands up tall.
    He knows the rules of home, he doesn't want to fall.
    He must go back to his confining place.
    Not wanting to loose his essence, that sinfully gorgeous grace.
    As he takes off again, I curse to him all of my hate.
    But these are the times, I guess heaven couldn't wait.