Planets

Sun

Gold was -
The chain around your neck;
The frames on her mantel piece;
And the sun light that filtered through,
In lines,
Onto my hands,
Because your blinds let it in.
It was warm,
Too warm,
Boiling,
Burning.
Gold could have been –
The patterns on the wallpaper;
The bracelets on her wrists;
And the sunlight that flooded the room,
In waves,
Over all of us,
Because the curtains are still open.
It could have been warm,
And safe,
And full of space,
Rather than cramped and suffocating,
Stuffy and sweating,
In thick jumpers in mid-summer.

Gold will be-
His hair,
In the sunlight,
In Paris or Rome,
With his arm around me,
Because I've found all the places where the light reaches
(more than I thought there were).
Not in lines,
Maybe in waves,
But soft,
Gentle,
And warm, but I can still breathe.