If your love was money
Of those coins that clotted veins,
Would change have been enough
For you to love and pay your way?
Love did fill up beating hearts,
That paper cut to bleed,
Accounts did differ in the dark
Of what price played the beat;
And rubber bands did bind the flow
Of time that clocks vowed promises:
To harness heat through metal cold,
And branching hearts so bottomless.
I make my love of money,
But my eyes leak of retreat
To where I count the tally
Of why touch is a receipt.
Why do I use blood to balance
Pages that keep score
Since all that I demand be done
Always leaves want of more:
Red that spills corrupted touch
That drips with thought of time,
Decides to take me of my love,
My money safe inside.
Will we track cold coins
Inside a home of classy cage
That paper can, with metal, join
The hearts that we’ll encase?
We’ll beg with love that sells
Us far from where we once belonged
To count on numbers, one and all,
For having right to wrong:
Hearts will pump for stores
Of love but seldom will begin
A love that weighs much more
Than us or any gold within.
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