Your initial, G, as I know thee, is a constellation, my beautiful map that arches over
A hall of illusions sunk in an angry gods sea: I root my eyes solely on thee –
With your stately bombs, pass to and from, change the winds course, blowing me
Atop, your crown of hair that changes colour in eyes of sky-fate held in each pupil
Phases of moon, in glances the light of your constellation, changes and guides
My ship, over dumping waves, with my shoulders back, and eyes fixed on you
Blessed Graffiti Poesy 
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