You were a room filled with paintings
of storms in the style of Turner
and each was gold—
end-of-day gold; gold
as you want me to be. Gold
as a sweet horse in a picture book.
Gold in that way, your way;
Gold when it’s lost,
how it seems more gold.
A girl’s tooth. That one you
saw in an elevator, took home
after. Fool’s gold.
Fool-me-once gold, come
twice gold. Your gold
chain as you hold yourself
over me, that rests in my mouth
like a horse’s bit.
