Smolder
This is the golden age,
You the antidote
And my desolate treasure.
For you I must turn my head,
Gaze across a lithic shoulder
To your intentional eyes.
This is the golden age,
My hand jitters deep
Concealed in my pocket.
I would give you nothing
To never know
That all treasure will go missing.
This is the golden age,
I drink you
And I ache.
My hand on your cheek
In this blurry embrace.
From some golden age
Like a man I settle
My dull touch;
I light your cigarette.
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