papa always forbade
any drops of gold which escaped my skin
and yet, here i am, un-alone and undone,
in between your neon eyes
and a black ocean, spilling out from your skull,

you intertwine your skin with mine,
as the paint-splatter words around us
trap themselves in my periphery,

forgive me, papa
throw caution to the wind,
and chase her down to your cliffside cottage,

you, prowling lion,
auburn and amber mixing
together in the painter’s jar,
refuse to heel before the hunter,

intercede on my behalf, o Beloved
pray that the image is forever scalded onto my skin,
that of the halo hung abode your heel
without end, singing into my fickle ears.