The angel on my shoulder is asleep. I’m lonely tonight. There are no whispers to soothe me. Only the whir of a spinning mind.
Where is my other muse? My celestial virgin. My guide along the straight and narrow. She too is beyond my reach. Silence, a cloak. Tonight, a shroud. I need to wrap myself in voices. Warm soothing voices.
This chill needs heat. Physical heat. Cheeks. Arms. Breath. Core furnaces heating flesh and blood. Desire simmers. My angel sleeps and I’ve tilted my halo. Oh Angel! Oh Virgin! Oh Muses! Sing to me…
Help me. I am alone. And so cold. I need to hear you. My voices. My warm and soothing voices.