I think it’s gold– your feeling
surrounding, warming–

Like comfort dipped in inkwells
of truth and I-was-thinking-of-you–

washed and dotted and brushed gently.
I feel the texture of your care,

breathe the hues of your worry–
greens of calm, blues for fingertips,

like tiny droplets creating impossible waves
in this vast ocean we call Us. And then–

gold. Gold for you and gold for me
beneath skies ablaze with cosmic bearings.

Maybe I was caste in iron, but you
gilded me in starlight– give me reason

to paint my world
in colors of your love.