you, glistening in the coffee shop
skin like aged bronze
Michelangelo could not have done better
you laugh like smooth silver
and amber fills your eyes.
i’ve never been one for fine metals
i’ve never wanted a gem to dote upon
but there are diamonds in your fingertips
gold lacing your tongue
isn’t there a future in mining?
isn’t there a market for ore?
i shouldn’t think myself worthy
priceless art hangs in museums
statues sit in gardens of nice cities
but i would guard you with
my asphalt eyes
and concrete skin
every day as the sun rises up
and then falls again.