Arms of Gold

I felt that same warmth years ago,

saying bye before a storm,

wrapped around my walled up bones;

a softened tightness in his form.

Droplets spilling from my mind -

silver, like a splintered mirror -

at times they spill from my thighs, too,

and eyes, when she is where he’s near.

It’s not a feeling that is found

at parks, or after-party bars -

or else it’d be mine every day,

and four years wouldn’t feel like scars.

I dream one day that warmth will be

mine to love and mine to hold;

it’s all I want, my heart it needs

a home in gentle arms of gold.