I remember the sun,
torrid and insistent,
how its ruthless radiance
dazzled the eyes.
Wave after wave,
the white, obliterating heat,
searing and bleaching,
dazing each thing
to staring incandescence.
Lying here, in the dark,
I know you're not the sun.
Above me your skin
is dusky and cool.
Your eyes are shadowed
by something in the night.
So why am I thinking
of that brutish star?
Why am I burning, burning, burning?
