the night i dreamt of an angel

it was golden. i could see him from the front; his back was leaned south—scratch that, i couldn’t tell if i tried. his shoulders were decorated in honey and cream, graying at the edges. my gaze lowered towards his palm, which rested near his leg in suspension. i made my way to press my lips against his knuckle, his wrist, his collar. i wasn’t afraid. looking back, i know i should’ve run. he kept me with him, by his side, for what seemed like an eternity. i wish it was. i remember telling him i loved him. it was warm, and he said it back with a chuckle. i wasn’t afraid.