Psychoanalyzing Angels Poem by Luce Darwin

I could draw the trees
by your house I know them
and love them so well.

Where is my celestial epitome
when I begin to fail
at cognitive functions
and my fingers slip on my guitar,
and I make a horrible growling noise.

He too, must be drawing your trees.

So I believe in the astral plane,
and study etymology.
Go ahead then,
psychoanalyze me.

I have seen words that could have only
been invented when someone had
seen your face,
and the light under your skin,
somewhere.