Years ago, I limestoned
my way through girls,
cool and completely solid.
As they swayed,
sweet and sweat-inducing,
glossed in a perfunctory pink
at the foot of my bed,
I could feel them sinking
all the way through me,
swaying between
my synapses.
But now I'm crepuscular.
I'm seizing as girls
prism in front of me
like sequins,
like fool's gold.
They leave the door unlocked
behind them.
I was once told pyrite
isn't a lie if you know
it's pyrite- if it shows you
all its sides
individually and with care-
but I still wanted them to be solid gold.