Gabrielle Ciarann Roniyah Baer
Stop blazing those teasing
golden eyes at me.
you have little taste
for my poetic license,
you don't see you:
warm, burnished as molten gold,
in the after glow of loving.
It doesn't matter one.0001 credit
that you've shown this golden loving
to a fair number of the fair, and the dark.
It is a gift freely given after all,
not a secret hoarded to rust away.
Don't worry too hard
about it, love.
You learned this bit of wisdom
at least 12 parsecs ago
without undue thought
furrowing your gold fringed brow.
I learned from you
to give freely,
moon-silver in the gold of your arms,
to be more alive
than in any life I'd known,
and maybe to teach
a 'hard case'
love's silver-gilt poetry.
written in June 1979
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