The Sun
My day starts when he rises,
Ends when he sets.
The center of my universe,
Giving life to my empty body,
Bringing color to my cheek.
A blazing world of flame,
Which both ignites my passions,
Setting the very fabric of my life ablaze in an inferno of my own emotion,
And soothes me far into the inmost crevices of my body,
Awakening the tiniest blossoms of pleasure within me,
Bending their fragile necks towards his light,
As if alive for the first time.
He burns brightly;
One must be careful not to fly too close to him,
Least they be burned,
For it is impossible for any being to behold such beauty,
Such sheer perfection,
Without first being blessed by his desire.
Lucky is she who becomes his moon,
Who was created to be perfection’s pair,
And in loving him,
Tame his fiery blasts,
Shaping them into soft, warm beams of life,
Pushing him to the farthest limits of excellence.
How she yearns for him,
And the vibrance he brings,
In the long hours they are forced apart,
Rejoicing only when they are reunited,
As it is only then she is once again complete.
As the Yin is to the Yang,
As the Light is to the Dark,
As Death is to Life,
The Sun is to the Moon,
And You are to Me.
by Kate Mack
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