Love's time's beggar, but even a single hour,
bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.
We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers
or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a gra** ditch.
For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair
like treasure on the ground; the Midas light
turning your limbs to gold. Time slows, for here
we are millionaires, backhanding the night
so nothing dark will end our shining hour,
no j**el hold a candle to the cuckoo spit
hung from the blade of gra** at your ear,
no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit
than here. Now. Time hates love, wants love poor
but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.