I could write that you
are each shade of the seven colours of
light and smiles that thunder, the envy of sunrises
the absence that defines the dark.

I could let my thoughts
play out upon my face, open to all sight,
every word gifted an ignition sparking
shamefully how willing I am to fall into
step with the rolling rumble of your feet.

I could say that
I love your hand in mine when I am sleeping
it's the only time you tremble that touch,
inconsistent I am the cold to your warm
and you are the eye of my every storm.

But in reality, breathing the same air alight
azure eyes drifting lazily down towards mine,
I will say only, that the sun hates you.

Abstained from dropping thoughts to vulnerable speech
of how it was merely jealous,
for no star could never shine so bright.