Angel, falling

This is a revision of Misplaced Angel (

She’s completely perfect.
Of course, that won’t last long in my company.

She babbled something yesterday
that sounded too much like “damn it”.

She’s perfect.
But I’m positive the insidious imperfections of me
will eventually cause that to change because what’s life without:

practical jokes, loud music,

silly songs sung through empty paper towel rolls?


Watching the news, the button in front of me stridently announces

“That was bullshit!” (she pressed it.)

The timing was impeccable.


We giggle at rude noises made by applying mouth to
bare skin.

What is life if one doesn’t question everything?


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