What tortures must the lover of the sun endure—
To feel it hold you like a paramour then watch 
Its gold complexion withdraw to cooler tides while you 
Nurse your own heartache. You’re too clingy. It’s desperate.
What tortures must the lover of the son endure—
To feel him kiss up your spine and graze the fragile skin
Like sunrays mouthing at each beauty mark then watch 
His gold complexion withdraw to new currents like stingrays 
Cutting through salt water, evading the hand that reaches out 
To caress. You’re too clingy. It’s desperate. To love 
A mortal being means to fear the leaves changing colours. 
The only thing 	       time will ever bring you 	    is change. 
	   I can’t control the weather but I can quell my heart. 
	   What joy is there in standing under an awning?