Falling From Heaven

I hovered upon the rim of a de-realised precipice, on a peak that gouged the sky, held aloft the euphoric thermal. And dreamed of her in wakefulness, hands alive with tremor; bobbed the cascade of brown hair, China Doll eyes, agate, glint, the curled lash sweeping my cheek. Pink, the velveteen bow of her lips, skin, white pliant marble soft as milk, sweet as honey in the killing moon light. I loved her then, so much, and drunk with the Vodka of her breath, proclaimed such love and surrendered my only final ideal. The China Doll eyes, sightless with sad pity, closed, reciprocating nothing; opened to glimpse the illicit dark, watched me falling from heaven.