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There are some that can be described forever — each strand of hair, every line on a knuckle — and surely, Lucifer could have seen himself doing that, even now. This was his, this is our, first drunkenness. This heat in his face, this rush; he was leaning forward, breaths refusing him. Lucifer uttered it delicately, feeling his lips shape around the name and tasting honey sweetness, “Michael, Michael, Michael.”
‘There is another Eden, within me. I have it nestled between the heat of love. This is love.’
Eventually, Michael’s hand found Lucifer’s waist, and he held it loosely at first, as if only meaning to steady the other. Then, he fingered the chains of jewels there, as they spoke, to each other and to the guests. Timid until his grip grew a little tighter, confident — tugged Lucifer just slightly closer to him. And loudly, grinning dignified, he said to a stranger, “Oh, and look at this fine angel I found on my way back. He was sleeping between some blue stars, over a crescent moon. He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he?”
‘But if I were like God, I’d create a new piece of me every day for you to kiss. I’d remake myself, chasing that mouth.’
‘In vain, I love you; in vain, the dawn streaming onto you, beside me; in vain, I want to be yours, your angel. Angel of love, angel of Michael.’
How beautiful — to die. How merciful. To exist and then to not, to have your time be spent, to have everything only once.’
He made you, when He made me. And, suddenly, I’m questioning everything, asking myself if this is really paradise or if you are paradise.” Falter. “I— I don’t know what I’m saying.”
