Gold Dust Man

There’s a coat of Montezuma gold on your skin,
dusk paints tiger branch stripes on your face.
It is autumn in my heart, and our carriage rides
on through trees lit like embers, your green blue
eyes the only memory of spring, everything is in
changing tides, I jumped off a quarry cliff into
your deep, and I don’t know if I can swim above
all the wanderers in your heart, they lure me
down into honey memories, so I grab your twilit
fingers and paddle through seasons of loss, tithes,
what kind of blood did you pay for these fineries?
Loam has woven itself into your suit and waistcoat,
my petticoats are cobwebs, our driver is Sir Death,
and unlike Dickinson, there will be no kindly stops –
my road is rocky and this is my choice but also fate,
the boulders in my woodland are rough, these reaches
are wild, as I hold your hand, our carriage passes
the outer boundaries of safety, love is never safe,
I’ve guarded my heart for two dozen years, it has
grown dim because I starved it, I cannot give you
anything more than pretty words, a bouquet of poems.
What I own is a lust for more than this world, like
you – maybe together we can make autumn last forever.
Maybe together my demons and your ghosts will run in
terror, our darkness will be driven out by joy, we
will align like the constellations at midnight, and,
perhaps, your fall will spice my heart with enduring
flames, but for now, the warmth of you will suffice.

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