on the bedside table in a bottle
reminiscent of communion wine.
And each night by candlelight
she would massage the golden libation
on outstretched legs and arms
while I sat beside her,
Done, her bronze skin glistened
inviting the barest whisper of a touch.
And my fingertips thrilled
to trace lazy circles
on her thighs.
But the past has collapsed
into dust while we’ve been reborn
into other lives.
spilled like a golden thread from then
until now and calling me home
when I close my eyes.