The bumps cracks and imperfections of the white sky as it smiled down on me reminded me of the fills in her skin
as shy hands did their best not to shake.
In my wake I was not sure whether this was the inner peace and enlightenment that pastors preached
or the high before everything burned
in the smoldering fire of her red cracked and glassy eyes.
Aqua sea of blankets and the streams coming in through wooden panels
that make day dreams break and let reality seep in.
It was the saturnine morning that pulled blankets over eyes
stopped the free flow of thought
the oppressive priest disguised only by those who chose to believe
that war was peace and hatred was love.