Words moving like clockwork, and the way your voice sounds when you whisper nothing quietly, to me, to my ears listening in a way never to have listened before. The fallen strand of hair across your burning eyes, emerging golden blue in which I can see clearly the sun. A silent rage, is the picture of restless flares dancing incessantly. If you are the sun then I should be the earth beneath your stare, lost beneath your fiery solace. And when you speak my name there is an end, with the trees crying from the ceasing downpour. Where the fierce blue fire is never ending, burning above and within my own skin. If you are the sun then we are all fading now, we vanish and burn. From here I lay, watching with each petal and leaf that has grown from the strands bursting from a head of hair so dry and forlorn. Your smile is the day when the ice is defeated, cold streams to feed the land, I take a desperate breath. And if you are the sun then I would be the russet earth beneath your restless body, praying for the day when you should return home.
