AN EMBRACE OF GOLD

Lust
like a tidal wave
drowns
the stiff, wooden
gleeful expressions
so etched and rehearsed
by the hypocrite mannequins.
Burnt fingers
of memory
recoil
from the passion’s flame
as if it were a demon.
Alas
the sweet embers
never warm
nor refine.
What surrenders to the truth
finds a perfect embrace
from the gold
minted in a heavenly forge.