If these wings are becoming of me

If these wings are becoming of me,
with their familiar shade of black,
then let them sweep you into the night.

Perhaps I should fly with you into the sky.
Take you away from your pain, and mine,
so we can be free, to spread our wings.

We could soar through the stars,
Two angels, not meant to stay in the ground.
We will own the skies.

Finding strength in eachother,
as only lovers can.
Finding our heaven.