I bought her a pair of gold earrings that writhe when she walks.
They bring the caramel curve of her neck.
She needs me to be that highlight of gold.
It feels good when she loves my gifts.
It’s the closest she gets to loving me.
Even when I light myself on fire or cry, I see nothing in her eyes.
I see glimmer. She shakes in memory of me.
Still doesn’t feel real; this is the girl that’s mine,
The one I’ve resolved to give sixty years on a plate.
I can’t help it. I love her. She makes me embrace flame.
My hands are tender gloves. She can burn me all she wants.