a setting sun in my palm
red-gold beacon
at the end of a transformative journey;
I cannot help but be drawn to you
greedy treasure hunter
I tear down these painted walls
open the tomb
reveal the treasure
sunlight’s alchemy
bursts you forth
into golden bars;
a brief miracle
then my desire (or yours?) overcomes me;
only curling chips of paint remain
but I am glowing now—
you have consumed me