Midas my love,
you are a king among thieves.
The humble saviour that lifted the beggar man's leftovers up from her knees
where she'd knelt in prayer, or defeat.
It doesn’t matter.
You made me a queen.
And we, ruled our world like no other lovers ever could.
when you'd touch me and say, "baby, you're golden."
You'd touch me, and I would feel soft beneath your fingertips,
when our lips would meet,
those moments were more precious than all the riches in the world,
Those moments were so rare.
Midas, my love,
You made me into a fountain of youth.  
demanded I water your roses that would not grow themselves.
And I did.
I poured my heart and soul out until it overflowed into the garden,
I watched you stare in wonder, I watched you fall in love with me
like a child.
Selfish and unafraid.
You named me life, you named me gift,
You did not name me woman.
Midas, my love.
golden hearts do not float.
They sink in disappointment and hit bottom with a thud the third night you forget to call.
Though you will not see them rust, they will become cold and hard and heavy.
Midas, love, am I every bit as precious as you wanted me to be?
Am I a trophy to show to strangers, am I a symbol to kneel before like an alter,
Am I the idea of perfection you sought?
Midas, your highness, king of kindness, you are alone.
Statues of saints are made to look at, not to love.
Martyrs were not forged to love in return.