Gold drips from your fingertips

Performing the art of Kintsugi

Beginning between the crooks and crannies

That is beneath my superficial layers

Yet in soft, hushed whispers

As if not to frighten the stray

You foolishly gush about how you adore

Every crack, dent, and smudge

Every hairline fracture

If this piece was molded by the gods

For you to cradle, to make love to

Yet how can there be any gods?

When he has devoted his life to worship

That of which lies above him