A Song for Slender Mountains and Golden Wings

A quote from a movie spurred this on.

 I am golden. You don't even know. And child, you were looking for love in the only foolish way you knew how. Look at you, losing your mind to a tricky mouth and a full moon. They say all the world's a stage and we are but actors in this production called life, but honey follow me backstage and I'll show you what real work is, here, under these filtered projections of golden light. Oh yes, I am so golden. Filthy little projections of the drink you didn't finish. 

She ran off with a drummer during a prayer meeting of all things. Ran so fast the world didn't know she was gone til her prayer resounded in the most unholy hours of the morning. A dark and quiet howl to the stars that drifted into eternal sleep, one by one until the sky so black swallowed the sound. She's so golden, even the sun in it's glory envies her tears.

He made love with his fingers. Caressing the rosewood of her neck. The mahogany of her body. Touched her so tenderly she wept sounds so beautiful and clear. Oh, dirty touches. His mind was not of rosewood and mahogany but of a soft maple and lacewood. The softness of lace that drifted away on a prayer. He is so golden. The world will never know.

They are so golden, the candles light themselves in perfect time. Not a wick is left dry. Wax flows so freely down the sheets. Hot drops that burn fingertips if touched without care. They are so golden even the flames turn blue. It would be a sin to not offer their golden flames and take on a cool blue in their place. They are so golden they glow in place of the stars.

You don't even know.