Keep your angels.

It's not as if he's handsome

or carved, as a god, from the finest wax.

no.

I would not say his smile weakens me.

Nor his stature, his clothes, or his laugh.

and It's not as if he's charming

for I know none that would say as much

but when he speaks

his words are molten,

brilliantly blazing to the touch.

And It's not as if he's daring.

but shy would not be the word,

in describing him, I shall say he is

capricious.

sometimes hateful. other times caring.

but merely when the situation calls,

for else he is Mr. Hyde;

a monster who, when he is provoked,

seems to constantly blow my mind.

It's not as if he is gentle

I still feel his hands about my neck,

but his words betray the wrath he exudes.

Those words that are my rest.

I dare not lie and say he is perfect,

for he is far from the sort,

but yet I still seek his promises.

Yet do I seek his love?

And when Jesus offered me his hand

I found I could not choose,

between the swiftest angel

and this tainted boy with scuffs on his shoes.

But I wondered for a time

and soon made up my mind

that if I was to spend an eternity with one and one alone

it would be the one who holds my heart,

even if, when in his possession,

he seems to always rip it apart.

So I thanked Jesus then

but said, slightly grim,

that I was fit to decide (for love) as it was shown.

then whispered into his ear.

"I wish you now to disappear.

Keep your angel,

I have my own."