the ever expanding space,
was wearing a facade,
of rhizobium and nicotine,
...and that agro cement real estate thing,
charm of my town,
trapped in her body,
she wore not clothes,
but romantic history of her eyes,
sadly the dawn came,
wearing inter galactic glitter,
spattering the milky white yolk
de-flowering my pagan spirit.
they gave me a cross,
an extension of your swastika,
they gave me self doubt,
and a pile of books to trace her image.
there she was,
for a moment,
burning in the liturgy
of a lost portal.
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