To have gold in your back yard and not know it…
I woke this morning before your dream had shredded
And found a curious thing: flowers made of gold,
Six-sided—more than that—broken on flagstones,
Petals the color of a wedding band.
You are sleeping. The morning comes up gold.
Perhaps I made those flowers in my head,
For I have counted snowflakes in July
Blowing across my eyes like bits of calcium,
And I have stepped into your dream at night,
A stranger there, my body steeped in moonlight.
I watched you tremble, washed in all that silver.
Love, the stars have fallen into the garden
And turned to frost. They have opened like a hand.
It is the color that breaks out of the bedsheets.
This morning the garden is littered with dry petals
As yellow as the page of an old book.
I step among them. They are brittle as bone china.
Of course, there’s a third possibility, courtesy of Dr. Bedelia. “For the first time in a long while, I see the possibility of friendship,” he tells her at his next therapy session. “I met a man… much like myself. Same hobbies, same worldviews… but I’m not interested in being his friend. I’m curious about him, and that got me curious about friendship.” God, he really does talk like some alien creature in a person suit. This thing you huu-mans call “friendship,” is it quality?
There is also kissing and fighting, but I didn’t want to spoil much of that.
Hannibal s1e8: Fromage