Coils Of Spent Gold Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Coils Of Spent Gold

Your hair was a scarlet bowl of living fire.
A fruit bowl that ripened tomorrow's sun
It spun flames that ripped through a man's ribs.
And nestled in coils of spent gold. It hissed with desire.
But then cooled into a forbidden moonlight,
Hidden behind veils of distant, unknown starlight.

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