lying on the front of your car at 2am
the night heavy around us and air thick with summer sweetness
your cherry cola beading perspiration
you turn your head to me and whisper,
i think i felt something wrong
take my hand and place it over your heart
cherry cola balanced dangerously on the slope of your car
i feel, hand seeping warmth through the sweat-damp fabric of your shirt
and when i withdraw with reluctance, it comes away stained gold
oh, you say, surprised, that's not right.
we must have shifted somehow
because the guts of your cherry cola are staining the gravel, tipped and spilled
and i can smell the sweetness of it
rising in the summer air
the night turned sticky with artificial syrups and sugars
and we are drunk on the gold spreading fast across your chest
you bring my hand back to the place where your ribs meet
and the shimmer drips down my wrist
my fingers turned to gold
you are bleeding it and your veins have turned to glitter
i ask, does this make you a god
and you tell me, no.
and you tell me, it makes me holy.
and it burns and burns and burns
i scream, but the gold climbs up my arms
and bathes my tongue in silence.