Angels

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Warm as the dorm was, we elected
to go

out into the blankness as
the others

came home. Throwing our bodies into
the fresh snow

we formed wings of angels with flurries
of arms.

Angelic crash landings are never
so true

as when you are drunk and the world
awaits you.

For who does not wonder as they fritter
their stay,

if we are but paper storms, before
a calm day.

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