Angels

Sometimes it’s the fingers in my hair 

Slow and delicate on every braid 

Sometimes it’s the windows down 

The sun down, cars gone on the freeway 

After a terrible day

The whispers of the wind 

Sweeping away the whispers of my thoughts 

Monoxide in my hair and clothes

UV rays and sun burnt skin 

Soothed by the sincere compliment of a stranger 

On features now seemingly obscured 

By sweat and blood 

Maybe the kisses of angels are felt in the simplest of things.

Haven

Tired eyes 

You thought you found a safe haven for yourself 

A place to hide without staying hidden 

Comfortable in your own bubble 

Oblivious to its fragility 

Till it came in your door and slept in your bed 

No place to hide anymore 

But there never really was 

They are all becoming 

They are all evolving 

The world keeps spinning 

And there’s no place to hide.