iA single scar adorns my face,
yours remains unmarred.

Your wardrobe, elegantly lace,
your expression rarely hard.

Forever cloaked in leathers of midnight,
my face, chisled from stone.

Never worthy of such light,
one who so brightly shone.

Any trouble we did see,
you were not the one to blame.

But you murmur how you love me,
as I succumb to the flame./i

Spike put down the pen and paper he held. Slouching in the leather chair that joined Angel's large oak desk, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly. When he finally sorted his thoughts his mind drifted to a certain blonde figurette, and a sad smile spread across his face.