The gold still hot from your skin burns my palms, a silent memory I carry close— its heat, a lingering in my bones. Each pulse a sonic boom each reverberation from the night before.

You’ve gone, but left behind your molten glow— a trace of desire where once there was a body,
a spark of passion where once there was a woman. In dreams, I see you turn to liquid gold.

How many lives have I lived to reach this moment? This...