with bare arms

Round is your head like the sun

with it's razor sharp rays)

The protector of the Athene. The best view is this one, full of shields, returning from battle holding heads and spilled enemy guts proclaiming yourself, reclaming the city form it's siege holders.

Works out in a circle the whole lot of work we put into this city, all for nothing our efforts were all for nothing our mere breath towards it's works, the city, is futile.

in startling smoothness, the skin is all but imperfect so every home in the city butchers a sheep for to show honor. defences have risen up the price of gain.

but.

(there are no razor sharp rays and no bare arms and no orgies for the god of grapes

Baccus.. no armour or weapons)

but.

beautiful, soft victory, in words that are barely heard

limbs that need no unfolding, beauty is kept hushily inside

trapped treasure no enemy heads and brains only in theories and texts sweet overcalmness, overkills

never need to do as much as rise on the cuty, because it is already given, surrendered.

the last conqueror was a sleeping fool murdered by poison in his sleep by his own romantic followers who first rocked him to sleep, the love sick crazy bastards, rocked him down the stairs of sedatives and poisoned by over ripe passion fruits such as apples, maybe, or strawberries.

So, no severed organs, but the knowlege of their structure and no thrashed candlesticks and still life but the knowlege to assemble them

and the power to disassemble them back. a calm, sweet, post-war victory, that you could go to bed with, curl inside, and as soft as the end of a day.

She is enlighted, and calmer. The sweetest and most intelligent girl-goddess,wearing human clothes, Laughing, (a laugh that reflects: death vengeance horror righteousness but does not apply them at all) She requires no sacrifice at all

only the sheep-blood is already making rivers of the streets of the city.