A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Gilded repairs, scars 
now encrusted and somehow 
what was already full of beauty
now exceeds the prior bounds
of my imagination. You try
to express your fears:
is it possible to be too broken?
Are you irreparable?
There is no limit 
to the golden pigment of my love
available to trace your scars,
pouring healing into the cracks, 
setting with the glue of acceptance,
and I will hold you gently
lest I am the cause of any further hurt.
And yes, I know I cannot
protect you from them all
but when you show me your freshest wounds,
I will clean them, 
kiss them, 
repair the lacerations,
and begild the scars as they heal.
And if they keep breaking you,
eventually you will be pure gold:
ineffable beauty they could never afford, 
and still my treasure.