Exhausted from Lailah, Gabriel, and Remiel's inquisition, I sink into the bay window in the Tower of Life, twisting my engagement ring.
Just to be sure, I make the sign of the cross upside down, trying to rid me of Michael dreams: No such luck indeed:
They will ask what her burden was, this Arc of the Covenant you pressed to her shoulders like your Father pressing the vintage of his wrath, grinding stars down to wine, oh sweet Michael. Long after she is dust bread of dead, and her ashes are cast out to the four corners of the universe, each black hole fed a bit of her blood, and you wonder, why am I, the Prince of Heaven, such a shit poet, and why can I not capture the elusiveness of my star girl, whose heart I shoved my burning fist into and twisted until she belonged to me?
