For Midas' Mistress.

Late at night
I wait for the
boy to meet
me with the
paper bag
then scurry back;
clutching, laughing
at the moon's fat
reflection in the Thames.

I sniff
a row
of diamonds
and they twinkle away
in my head.

And one day I will be
some anti- Midas
who touches dirt
and finds gold
lurking in the corners
and under floorboards
I scurry through
the night as a bat
I own

heaven, I know that
the truth loves me.