Inside

Inside royal halls of you  
I would make a Colosseum, those thousand
little deaths.                                                  

I grew to ignorance, an immortal.                          

While you held sway over me like a gravity
to destort the viewing glass, the humble T.V.
from which we view our lives was on.    

We were etching towards the sanctimonious
needing guidance already       
luring us old petticoat stations
in the rain.                                                      

This is the secret of nature
my wildflower only knows.                                                                    

I was tapping light into my real girl's own blown hair.