Hotel bedsheets
as rough / as cold as the 
hardest face of Mars. 

Not the planet but the god of war.

Stained in his phantom blood,
his ardency swells / his fiery red voice,
golden hair coiled in smoky sin.
His large / godlike hands / feel
for her.

Sexcries from the balcony,
firepassion remembered. 

He fought for his name / his honour.
He would not be named Thor.

Taken like the trojans took Helen,
but away from viking shores. 

She had forgotten Asgard,
found the touch of another heaven.

The End

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