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Rated: · Poetry · Other · #1719771

You're only getting me

No matter how much you want them
Some things cannot be
No matter how much you want him
You’re only getting me
The sky is made of angels
And I am made of fear
By the light of their burning pinions
We mortals disappear

For who am I to be seen by you
You, creature of the sky
My face is of a mortal hue
Was made for mortal eyes
By grace you saw me first, I think
And graceless, saw me fall
You loved the way that angels love
You never loved at all
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