Thickets

Gold rush

I found that golden intelligence in a gentle person's eyes
Two pans filled with water and sand and gold dust glittering like fireflies
A gold rush races through my guts and fevers up my mind

I hear the sun prays for her to open her eyes every morning again
so that it's beams may warm her soft skin, stroke her hair lovingly,
light up the dark depths in her eyes, until one certain day
someone will look into them and realize the depths have no end, and also, they would like to fall into them

I've lost the chance for my name to be called by the softness with which she speaks
It would've tugged me along to wherever she'd wish to take me
I imagine she and I to be standing on a cliff reaching the sea
She wouldn't push me, because how could her perfect hands touch someone like me
No, she would only say a word, not a command, but a hint; a suggestion; her tender advice

I hope she'd lean in close to speak into my ear,
Not wanting to raise her voice to compete
With the rushing of the wind and sea,
A deafening applause from an audience
Hung on whatever it is she'll breathe

And as her voice leaves her lips, I wish for a moment to be that word,
To come for her throat with a suppleness that leaves no room for hesitation,
To touch her tongue and lips, to be the cause of her guilt, her embarrassment, her shame, her escaping imagination
To be part of the sin she wishes she hadn't committed, but, secretly would do again.

She would never speak of me to anyone, because, though she knew how wrong it was, what she did, she felt just enough pleasure from the word leaving her lips, to never tell anyone about the satisfaction of her sin
And only the two of us would know we had enjoyed it quite a bit
To push a young soul drunk on love off that roaring cliff