the sun as my lover

Bathing in the golden milk

of the sun, it’s fiery strokes

of light coaxing shivery trails

of goosebumps,

the same ones produced

when the hedonistic flesh

of a ripen peach flirts

with my hungry tongue;

a primal performance

of photosynthesis.

He envelopes me

in warm, sturdy arms

and sows kisses

in the soil of my skin,

nourished solely by

his gold ubiquitous light—

an interwoven devotement

composed of eddying rays

of beauty.

To transcend from

flesh to plant,

to embrace

the molten shackles

of the sun,

is to supplicate their burns

in toe-curling salvation.