first thoughts

Here there are mundane things,
my hell is freezing over,
but in the stories of old,
and the comic books,
heroes come from another place,
haphazard thrown together
with we mere mortal men,
an accident,
of placement or circumstance,
elevating one
or sending a great one to us,
and deliverance come,
so before this cold mundane hell
clouds my first minds moments,
that early morning time
where my soul is still remembering
another place,
I tell your master this
is how I think of you
and you and you,
and especially you,
though it is cold in this pocket,
of mundane hellishness,
in the place that is
heavens little corner,
you are a golden child
ruddy underneath at times,
but you are worn of gold
and golden to the core,
you are super-girl in torn faded jeans,
a siren of good omen
and the string upon men's heart for graceful though and longing,
you are an accident of stardust
that is beyond the minds
understanding in magnificence
cept in half remembered dreams,
and in the might of splendor do
you repose,
and all that you do
is touched with the weight of
eternal boons and glory,
like pixie dust upon your fingers,
so I left a few tokens,
as a remember of what you really are,
and not me,
super golden ruddy fantastic peacock pretty special,
slice of heaven at 8 am,
but you don't talk to me?