My lover's scent is nothing like the sun;
for the smell I long to taste is no longer
carried through the air
when his shadow flashes.
It is left inside the man whom I adore;
whose laugh is gentle
and smirk is no boredom.
His cheeks are as red as flowers can be;
his lips thin: a sensuousness men around me
bother not to have!
His growing legs are bare, full of whiteness
as a source of light
in the menacing dark of heavenly blackness.
His lines are coloured with warmth,
succession, profoundness, awe, and aspiration;
his breaths charmed with haste; lust;
and mature melodies from the song
I played.
His arms sturdy and robust and adorned
even when he is pained; pained by the faint shades of love
who dies in winter and wakes every summer.
But his eyes are heartbreakingly enticing;
such a lure on a fragile Sunday afternoon;
when the first glimpse of him was taken!
I will be yearning,
in my every following heartbeat,
for meeting him again..
Even in a world where everyone perished,
my lusted passion for him would never cease to exist..