Wardour street

[dukealien]

Something of a rewrite.



In the small Soho cafe, you sat,

a crippled explosion of joy.

The waiters circled you like acolytes,

charmed serpents, supplicant at your feet.

Too close to your sun, I trembled

and like the wax that held

your wings to my shoulders,

I melted, combusted, skin

sloughed from my body,

blood boiled and burned,

my bones so much ash,

falling to drift out the doorway

to mingle with the crowds in the street.

Good job - coming along nicely.  Nice shift to make the Daedalus/Icarus figure definite.  Not sure about the new double simile for the waiters, though dwelling on them does fortify how much their presence affected the narrator.  Jealous or envious?