Lost in the glow of gold in the midget glass.
Shaking when I move, the liquid huddles.
It is the golden moment of an autumn afternoon
captive and gone awry.
The little glass is cold in my fingers.
A shimmering day,
full of mirage and uncertainty,
is thrown into the back of my mouth.
My jaw spasms around a throatful of liquid light.
The taste of burning leaves
becomes a brutal twist in my belly.
This feeling used to drive me
drinking to you.
Your voice would find me,
searchlights bursting through windows,
Under cover of night, I would come to you.
You would speak,
move your hands and lips then
watch as I shed my skin for you.
I moved in dreams of lust and ether.
I came to you, warm and bold,
as summer’s last breath whispered between our lips.
I never tired of your touch, your heart,
the voice which became a moan
then ragged breath.
I always came for you,
and you were never tired.