An Itch Before Midnight

I feel it even before I see it, like the eyes of angels pointing me toward that which can only be seen through that heavenly third eye vision. Wings of tough leather stirke chords within the window like some sort of Mantra. I'm not afraid, its just time to scratch the itch. Gotta let all the old go, and move forward. No more words are necessary, I smile at my angel as I succumb to the scratch. Soft hands with just the right amount of strength to let me know I was born to be loved.