You know,
I've seen sunrises at night.
Stirring sugar in my tea,
you tell me
you've never seen sunlight.
"How haven't you seen sunlight?"
"I am asleep in the day."
You're weird like that.
I like your weird like that.
You kiss me.
Tell me —
"You're looking at me that way again."
"what way?"
"As if you're falling in love — Don't."
I look away.
You look away.
"Look." I point outside
to a messy chaos
of a million stringlights in the sky.
"I made you sunlight."