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.