The Sun and Moon

My sun and moon, my light after noon.

You show me what it's like to illuminate the room when you flash your beautiful smile and bat your sparkling eyes. Your golden hair is a mane, proof of your confidence and vivacious nature. You're noticed, not just because you're beautiful, but for your radiance and iridescence, the way you walk into a room and establish hues of yellow, gold, and orange, an incandescent blaze. I feed off of your light, not because I don't have any, but because you're pure and unfiltered, allowing me to bask in your eyes, hair, skin, and chest, Your body is powerful and your words carry a flame, impulsive in nature, yet constantly filled with excitement. I want to know what it's like to touch you, to feel your hands reach over to my dark hair, and fill it with gold, the stars, and the wonderful magic you hold in your hands. 

When I see you I see a reflection of myself; pale and dark, you sit in the corner of the room, trying to draw little attention to yourself. You attract the thinkers, intellectuals, and people who sit down in their rooms, watching you make circles in the void, wondering about existential situations and philosophical questions. You hold my light, but you also hold my soul, and I only shine because of you, and how deeply you can understand my pain and intensity. I may shine, but I also dim, and I hurt, and you take my heart into your nimble fingers, and hum as you fix me again, always caring more about me, never for yourself. One day I want to see your gray eyes look into mine, and I want to put my hands on your chest, abdomen, and thighs, places you never touch, or are afraid to, and explore the craters and hills you're scared to show, tracing paths with my fingers as I spread light across your pale skin. 

Show me what it's like to be light

When you take your lips into mine

I watch as our hands delicately intertwine

Your face is lit in the pale moonlight

With my hands in yours and yours, mine

We walk on the beach

And watch the sun begin to rise