Gold can be shaped and formed, so can love.

I looked at her and she was gold to me. Better yet, she was the sun radiating
a kind of warmth that brought marigolds to bow in reverence and awe. 
She was hauntingly beautiful that summer with mango nectar dripping
from her lips, her eyes half-shut in intoxication. Maybe it was the heat
or maybe it was her, but I wanted nothing more than to curl under her
wing and listen to her hum the songs I told her brought me back painful
memories. She said it was for the nostalgia, to reminisce how far we had 
come. I said okay, and sipped from my glass of water, ever so sheepishly 
glancing at her, wishing to drink from her lips, to take away the 
sticky-sweet, and make it my own. I could hear The Strokes singing, their 
voices in the sparse breeze splitting each strand of my hair, summer is 
coming, won’t go away, summer is coming, it’s here to stay. Then she 
laughed when I choked on my drink because I thought of something so 
absurd, it made my heart clench as if it were my father’s fist. And when 
she asked me what I was thinking, I decided maybe it wasn’t too absurd an 
idea to be like her. To be like the sun, radiating not to bend flower stems 
but to simply be seen. So, when I kissed her and tasted the sickly sweet tang 
of mango nectar on her lips, she looked at me as if I were gold. Malleable.

Process

My biggest inspiration for this poem would be my friend who I’d admired for a long time. I always thought of her personality as gold, something that glitters in every room, or like the sun, constantly radiating cheer around her. I used her and my association of gold with her to explore the similarities between the metal and love, how each is cherished and valued, and how, ultimately, both are vulnerable to be changed by the slightest pressure.