Devoured by the Angel

Devoured by the Angel

(C) 1995 by Metta Anderson


I am devoured by the angel.
But I am drinking the angel.
I live in the angel.

I see in my mind
Bernini's Ecstasy of Santa Teresa de Avila
and I feel like that

but nude.

I lie spreadeagled,
a dog on each side,
devoured by the angel
and wanting more.

We walked around the corner,
César's hand on the small of my back,
pressure from his fingertips pushing me,
but I felt him
taking big
slobbering
juicy
bites
out of me,
ingesting me
into his own entity
as we went along,
the non-physial space and 
essence of me
swallowed up
absorbed
in the erotic 
Bogotá rain
along Carrera Sexta
between
Calles Diez and Once.

Surrendered to the angel.

(C) 1995 by Metta Anderson
All Rights Reserved