Girl
She'd folded herself
underneath the sheets,
pressed up against me.
Soft skin, cold and pulsing
In the wake of sleep
I
sigh and turn on my side
raising my hand to her hair
What's her name, even?
I stroke her hair,
a tangled mess,
and she murmers
curling up further
A child, she is a child
And I, an angel from hell.
