I once met a boy
That smelled of oranges and sycamore trees
He wove stories of aristocracy and rebellion
And with each word he spoke
My infatuation only elevated
Filling my lungs and stomach with a feeling I knew must have been

Love.

He shone as furiously as the sun;
Scorching the weeds of my mind into shriveled had-beens.
And as the sun,
Everything he touched was instantly a work of art
Gleaming of gold as if he were Midas
And I-
I was halogenic to his warmth,
All of me under his gentle control

But he was the sun.

And as sons do, he faded as gently as he arrived
Leaving dumb humans like me in the dark-
Having never seen the fire behind the felicity…

Darkness cascaded her gentle arms over my sunburnt body.
With the smell of sycamore trees still lingering in the air,
And with oranges stuck in my throat,
I sat.
And waited for another sunrise.