Hands bloodstained, that's what I get for touching sunsets.
"Too fond of flames" but you're so addictive.
Sunlight emits from your every crevice and pour
and your touch leaves tree rings on my skin,
studying it is like dendrochronology, so intricate.

Ivory and pale as if oblivious to the sun within you,
yet it shone so bright from within.
Our body's fit together like one big cliché of a puzzle
and we made this bed a home.

Then I realized your flame diminished for me over time.
My fingers that ran over you came up black.
That's what happens when you touch ash
and now your touch leaves a mere fog on my skin,
I guess that's what happens when we burn fast and bright.