Pisces

My angel, a rose
drifts past hungry stares
turned on,
oversized head phones
pound a tidal wave of sound
down her spine
like a long stem, she
soothes Fifth Avenue filth
like a lost leaf in late Autumn,
perfect walk
perfect legs,
perfect unison of perfect arms
bobbing like lifting wings
with each step.
				
My angel, a rose
is naked, a Venus
under bedroom stars
drinks too much 
merlot, I taste
her revenge at kissable
stares, we wrestle
our lips for hours
sleeping
in each others' dream,
I resurrect
in dead moon light,
mesmerized by 
the Pisces
black
on her middle back.