Gold Panning
I pan for gold in your ocean eyes,
nebra disks of blue-green patina,
precious metals by which I measure
my final destiny.
In my craze, I start an expedition,
a goldrush to climb the peaks
of each mountainous goldmine,
ski them between my thighs.
I’m rewarded for my devotion
with your gold leaf skin,
muscles, crackling coinage,
but the larger nuggets
remain hidden within.
Each extraction is ecstasy,
as your hoarded hands
let loose drops of liquid reserve,
the golden mean,
a priceless remedy.
Brazing is an art,
the puzzle pieces
of closely fitted parts.
Warmth flows over the base,
the long-awaited wetting,
an after-glow
the slowest burn imparts.
Gorgeous Goldsmith,
may we never fall apart.
© 2022| K.Hartless
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
Leave a reply to Tom Cancel reply