in the precolumbian

gold museum,

nestled under the throbbing

raining

heart of costa rica,

i stand long

at a cool glass case

staring.



i don't know why

but a single

one figure,

gold and shining

as gold does,

bright under its lights,

shining,



and i stood

staring

and wanted

to place it,

small,

shining,

on my tongue.

imagined it heavy,

sour,

cool,

tasting like sexsweat

and coins.

imagined my teeth

closing carefully around it.



but not imagined.

something stronger

something harsher,

some itching urge

to feel the gold

the sweetshiny gold

to taste

to swallow this country whole.



and later,

walking through the rainswept streets,

i wanted to taste you,

too.