The Dirty Talk of Angels

The dirty talk of angels
Sounds like crystals
Clattering far away.
They’re afraid of getting caught

But can’t help talking dirty:
If found out, they’re
Sent to their bedrooms
Without dinner or grace

And not allowed to come out
For thousands of years.
Or their wings are deep fried
And halos shorn off to play

Ring toss in the underworld.
That’s why angels squat in
The crannies of clouds,
Heavily petting each other’s auras

As they whisper about
Things so filthy to the heavenly,
Like the way they used to
Sneakily sniff their lovers

When they were mortal,
Or gaze at the pupils of the beautiful,
Wanting to pull open those discs
Like the round doors of bank vaults.