Zini
For the days spent chasing the momentary sun that shines through grey clouds
Penetrating flesh so pink and mild
laden with
crevasses
wrinkles
divots.
Fine hairs erect above prickle pinched skin,
cool shocks spark shivers quick and steady.
Turn to face the gold
and soak
momentary– but only for us.
She sits. No, she perches.
Never waiting, just being.
Everyday she soaks the gold that reflects onto her -
a privilege
a necessity
she is Divine Golden.
It fleets so quickly -
lingers in the air with a false promise,
like a lover
but hides in the clouds and shares its love with another.
How can I live without the Divine Golden?
