This is how i look at it

Time tatoos memory on your skin.
The fatale relationships of your life is all etched in there.
This is how we look at it.
But a self regenerating rythme beats in the invisible spaces of your flesh
It dances; it rejoices; it escapes all tangible claws of pain or the carresses of false promising joys.
Have you ever found yourself on such a road of freedom.
I'm not your Angel yet .
Yet, angelically i brush against you as many moths before a devouring flame.
Will it help you to stay alive.
What use in being a feather when you can be a bird.