It’s gold I can feel and see first,
gold of honey and wings and delicate wax.
Feel the time and slowness and evenness of it
walls not content to merely house but curves that hum and cradle and move you along
my head of brass and oil and poppy.
Scents collide and cajole and mingle with the visions in my head
all soft, all fragrant
open your mouth and let your tongue weep
let it grow heavy on the sweetness…
I rise into the dawn and hold my self as tightly as I can
as long as I can
delaying the moment of unfurling so that the pleasure is tenfold and
look now the sun is also gold
and nods to me
in this intimate fellowship
this airy worship of light we share.
My language is my dance and my sting is not given lightly,
to sting is to die and it must be momentous
it is to mark the one stung as savior.
And the wax receives my husk
my shining emptied capsule
with love and covering ease
and builds me into the wall of memories.
I am gold.