How can we be that of the same species,
let alone made from the same cosmic dust.
The sun kisses your skin with subtle grace.
It lures the melanin to the surface;
a photosynthesis that leaves your skin
tanned, and soft, and hydrated, and scented.
Sun-scented skin is intoxicating.
With me, the sun’s touch is not so gentle.
Its cruelty stains me red, and rough, and parched.
We are not the same, and the Gods know it.
Sol, Ra, Helios. They choose favorites.
The sun knows your skin is meant to be kissed.
I am envious of all the sun gods,
of all those who kiss your sun-scented skin.
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