Money talks in velvet tones,
soft as smoke under my skin—
I let it whisper through my bones,
mint the dark, spend the sin.
Fold the moon into a note,
strike a match on every zero;
dance barefoot on the vault floor,
make the gold confess its echo.
Love’s a currency too cold to keep,
so I burn it like oil in my sleep;
ink runs green across my chest—
heartbeat printed like a crest.