There are tales
that have been spoken
about the ones
who fell
too young
or naive.
Though you know me,
every time we kissed
the color ran off my cheeks.
and so it begins, with a
pounce of a key,
a tale of two, maybe three
lovers who fell too naive:

You speak in such tone
which leaves me in awe.
Every syllable, every line
you enunciate lives
in my own gallery
of things you do that
make me urge to keep.
I graze the side of your face
constantly fiddling away
at the stubble on your jaw,
or the thin strips of wonder
on the top of your skull,
and all I can imagine is
the *Sun.
Naive it may be,
but my Sun boy I
will keep.