Unfinished Love Story

I believe that my thoughts
Went from my mouth to God's ear
Lovingly heard, carefully received and notated
In His vast expanding file: 
19 billion messages received for Monday

Someday I know you will hear me 
With the one message I kept telling you,
I really love you.

Someday we will hear one other
Someday my love will make it through
Even if I wait for the cow to jump over the moon,
I will wait for you to receive the silk of my love 

I believe that my heartbeats, throbbing like timpani 
Upon the immense stretched skin of time
	of space and of wonder
Were carried by the angels to the throne
	of the Creator, pulsing 
Like bubbles in His pedicure foot massage
Tickling His enormous big toe, where hidden
	in the fold of its cuticle lay our galaxy
With all its blazing stars and orbs, spinning —

I'm head over heels in love with you

"Bring me a nail file!" The King of Kings called out,
His voice booming with the velvet richness 
	of French hunting horns mixed with dew
"Yes, M'Lord," and a tiny angel, no bigger
	than a strawberry appeared, with a file
	twice as large as she

"Charming, charming", Father God said, 
"And who are you?"
"Created just this morning, my Highest God,"
	the utterly pure and innocent angel answered
"From God Factory No. 22."

"Do you wish to take on a human form?" asked the Father,
Beaming with indescribable love and pride at this precious
Itty-bitty angel sprite before Him.
"Oh, no, kind and all-giving Lord," she answered.
What impeccable manners, thought He

"I hear it's hell down there!" and she
	buried her tiny face in her hands.
"But you were just born this morning!" exclaimed Father God,
"How is it that already you've known what to believe?"

"On earth, it's already midday, Father, and
	much can happen by noon.
I would not want to go there now.
There are mortal men there who are weeping
From love ill-returned, from love letters spurned."

"Now, now, Child," said Father God,
Delighted with the keen intelligence of an angel soul
Less than a day old and already so aware.
"We'll only send you when you're ready."
She squealed and threw her diminutive arms 'bout Him.

"Father, I need only stay with you. Do not send me there.
The earth's a terribly tragic place. There's hateful distaste,
There's garbage and haste, there are uncaring people
	who hoard and don't share."

"But my child, my Lilliputian angel, dear,
There's a man who has brought his woes
	to my throne
With pleas and promises to do as I seek,
If only his heart be nourished by the one he adores.
Perhaps you could help? Tell me, child, speak."

"Well, Lord, I might appear to this lad in his dream
And dance merrily in a jig 'round his anxieties at bay,
With your permission, my Father, I'll bring with me pixies
To bring back this poor poet some of joy and gladdened play."

"Very well, precious angel," and God blew her a kiss.
It landed above her head, and a crown came from the mist
And her wings were strengthened with fibers of gold
I saw her last night, so this tale could be told.

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