Curious in contempt:

Made for
your arms,
missing selves
without touch,
before it became
distant--like
memory to age.

It could be age
that steals away
selves known
and gardens
an angry thing,
now viscous and
putrid.

It stands where
someone draped
in gold
left an imprint
in the carpet,
heavy over
flattened threads
that once
reached to heaven.

Gone like
the affection
in their own name.
Gold is soft
to the touch
and takes a form its
beholder can decide.