"I like you this much"
he says
pale arms stretched to their limit,
fingers extended, gently tickling the air;
his face is hardly more than his smile,
which he hates
but when he smiles
I see the sun;
it warms me
in the cheesiest but most sincere way,
I can't get enough;
he is the sun
and I can't escape his pull,
red hair and explosive personality,
he is the sun;
a week without him is winter,
a day in his arms risks a burn.
"I like you this much"
he says
and this time
I don't look for shade