Attention, or, Carats are Bad for your Eyes

You pour over me.
My skin is gasping for air
without the gills to breathe your gold
paint.

My nose is tasting varnish; caustic dollops
of lead scent are sliding
down my throat.

My lips are mute speed-bumps
for the 24-carat mucus stream,
such pretty decorations.

My eyes are gazing at gold-glazed lids
but can’t see how they glimmer.

My head tilt sets wet paint drooling,
a tongue down my ear canal.
My thoughts are turned to gold,
solid and unchanging.
I hold my pose,
it holds me
in place.