Sunflower

I should not have had spring this year. I’ve always loved spring, but you completely embodied it, transformed it. You gave me red speckled cherry blossoms, gently pink petals; soft, but not overbearing, mellow warmth.

You gave me meadows of freshly blooming phloxes and lemons, celadons and milky pigments. The cerulean of the cloudless, endless blanket of sky. The sun beaming, radiating on your sweet face and illuminating your complexion, as I stand here saturated in your grin.

But your lips, your touch. Warmer than the sun itself, heating me to a boil. Ornamenting my entire existence.

Your eyes manifest images of being stranded in Bermuda, the unimaginable hues of the unexplored; with the hint of ash reflecting my storm- my hurricane of emotions towards you. The brightness being the sun hitting the high points of the curling waves.

Your quiddity has boarded me on the voyage of love. A voyage of no return.

Loving you has no end, or conclusion. And I would circle the Earth’s seas over and over, for your affection.

Your existence inspires the tides to rise. The sunflowers look to you in the absence of the sun. But there is never a lack of sunlight with you around. You are my very own suntime.

Love does not come close to explaining this.