Devil?

I am holding hands with a Devil on a Spring Sunday Afternoon.

It is not for the first time and it will certainly not be the last.

We have walked together down the cobbled roads of our hometown,

    Drinking August's afterglow

    While hungover angels stagger into our path

    And fling curses at us from behind their pearly screen doors.

We have shared voluptuous moans

    Sleeked from the depths of our throats

    In the solitude of the sultry bath-house,

Sinking deep into our frenzied hearts.

We have sat together by vivacious winter fire

    Melting into each other under goose-down armour,

    Fading in and out of kaleidoscopic presence,

Soaking in our perfumed scents

While wolf-pelts wrap tightly around our chests.

My mother cried for us.

His father hollered at us.

They were angels, but their brains were filled with scribbles.

We went and played between the crystals where there were other devils,

Devils and Men that walked in time with our heartbeats,

    Breathed our breaths

    And loved in a festival of beautiful chemicals and rippling flesh,

        Passing soul-notes, singing songs and dissolving into passion.

Devils and Men, the difference between whom cannot be seen as paint on the skin.

We went and played in the forest where we sat in on a faerie circle.

Where we danced and spun like the ecstatic dervish.

We went home with sunset and stubborn leaves tangled in our hair.

I am holding hands with a Devil on a Spring Sunday Afternoon.

It is not for the first time and it will certainly not be the last.