The god-being
takes off her jacket

and
sits down on the edge of my bed.

She cradles a crinkling,
noisy bag of twinkling
cold coronas.

The god-being says:

"I got two for you,
one for me."

The god-being
is wearing one of my black beaters

and the pin-up nurse
on her left-shoulder
is splayed and exposed.

The nurse's body opens up
into a flaring
of too-long legs
and distended ****.

The god-being

is curled away from me
her whole being is
wrapped up
in holding the bag.

Wrapped up
in holding those sounds contained.

The god-being

unfurls herself
finally
and reveals the three
golden bodies.

The nurse
is no longer bloated
and stretched.

The god-being turns
to me,
two coronas in her right
one in her left.

The god-being spiders
up to me.

Crawling over the bed,
making space-time
dimples
in the scratchy fabric
with the two sap-colored bottles
in her tiny creative hands
and the sadness
that she has created me
to look at her.