Golden Hour
I watch you,
Across the table from me,
Light spilling in
Butterscotch honey lemon
Pooling in the sweat at your temple,
In the dips of your collarbones,
The heights of your cheekbones.
They are gold leaf
Laid by careful artist’s hands
And I want to run my finger over it
Gathering gold flakes along my fingertips
Taking a piece of you with me
When night shutters the day
And I am left
With only a picture of you
Here across the table from me
One thought on "Golden Hour"
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Beautiful, romantic poem