My dreams are made of rusted platinum
dried shut under the light of your eyes.

At least in day break
these tongued tones
will tug more tenderly
on the touch tone tendons of your torn heart.

I'll wrap the veins of my beating heart across the moon
and strum songs on the wax taught dulcimer
wrote them wet and ruby just for you.

I remember how you said you didn't trust the sun
and so I swallowed it whole to make you feel safe.

The burning pit in my gut that pushes me forward

is from you.