I saw a few angels smoking cigarettes
down by the bus stop.
They looked like they wanted to take off,
but the night sky was moonless,
tickets tucked in their wings,
waiting for their ride to next stop.
They passed a rose between them,
smelling it up between puffs.
One's face glistened,
thought of the oblivion,
looked in a mirror with regret,
burning strips of flesh,
breaking the smolder
after the hotel went up.
©Eusebeia Philos 2013
Written for dVerse Poets ~ Open Link Night
Note: this was a writing exercise suggested from "The Poet's Companion" by Kim Addonizio & Dorianne Laux.