Daniel Lawless

Consisting entirely of a rough water-colored cardboard box loggia
With sketched in tiles and columns where

A bored-looking blue-robed Calico curls up beneath
A Christmas tree's white angel, poised on fishing line just above her head:

Gabriel, of course, translucent, flared-winged, announcing you-know-what
To his red-eyed would be Mary. The shadow of the maker's hand.

No ring or amulet adorns their lovers' sleep,
No shield or sword protects it
From some forgotten foe.
Just this tarp that lets the day-bright drizzle in
And this modest clasp that shines
Like a coin dropped into a fountain
Where lovers light as angels peer
Into their future bathed in tears
Of sunlit spray.

How he whispers
In her ear sweet truly nothings now,
The ardent hand that cups her vacant breast
Still full of fresh passion,
The girlish twist of her ancient hips—
So barely there                                    
Their dreams outweigh them.
So deeply naked.