The Sun
There are nights still
When I long to call his bed my own
Lying under his multicolored lights
With him as my only home
Those lights shone as bright and colorful as the shades of auroras I could peak in his sunset eyes
Back when those eyes used to shine for a smile like my own
That hard rock chest, who's texture I still remember as if it were my own skin
There are nights still when I wonder of the hilarity of it
His skin might be far from reach
But the memories seep into my stream as if they made the compounds of my own blood
He might be all skin, but his touch made my spirit burn anew
His scent comes and goes while my soul screams
As if he were nothing but a figment of my lucid dreams
Real enough that you think you could catch them in the palm of your hand
But fickle enough that they slip right through the gaps in your fingers
There are nights still
When I find my soul floating through the air in his room
Remembering the bed, the lights, the mirror and now the birds who's cage he cannot help but poke through
There are nights still
Nights like this one, when my body craves his own
Or maybe its my heart that calls his name
Right until the morning, till I see him shine through the windows
The same shade of gold as his skin, for his name means the Sun...
But alas, even the Sun must set.
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