the gold

and I worry about ending something good with my own hands, spoiling what I dream of with the fear of that same loss. the gold is fragile. feel it ripple gently in the cups made with my fingers. mesmerising enough to never want to look away. intoxicating sunshine through the skin. I know the before: a steady rhythmic pulse through cool tones tasks and screen time. there is laughter and music, though it never lasts half as long as the boulders in between. the liminal is cold. I much prefer our hologram.

preempting the end I flounder in the well and nearly spill the gold. you're somewhere playing dress-up making other people laugh. I think about your eyes and I don't want to know the after.