Oh, poetic heart, do know -
I am not in competition
to outdo your story
nor to enrage a good church-goer.
Yet I do have to tell that
which my mind saw and
share with the world the glory of
the
last kiss.
The story is about an angel, who was punished for an idea he played out with a human being. His play rooted in the earth and spread among the people. The angel fell, of course, but his act is being played today still, and forever (in memory at least).
I paint you a white canvas. Notice the people are starting to gather in the amphitheater, around the edges of the cotton space - mere shadows & silhouettes, with brown outlines, their heads up, up. They're curious.
Up, center, now towards the left - the angel is treading air with big white wings, red fabric in his hands. Adonis is hanging on the satin red, an aerial dancer - his body perfect, a sculptor's envy. A winged beauty flies up to them and kisses the dancer his last kiss. But we don't know that just yet. Next, Angel moves with speed - pulls the fabric up to him and jerks it down, breaking Adonis' neck. The end - idea has been introduced.
