Symbiotic Resistance

White skinned, coconut walls beg to swallow the sun This cradled mass which slips it's fingers into every house, every day. Under curtains with brilliant tips, lifting up umber velvet, toile, silk and sky cotton just to feel the different fabrics scorch, to reach the slick, glacier walls and press it's hands to absorb. This white glow is liquid afternoons sipped in tea in winter The solar warmth going down the throat slowly, winding molasses and cactus juice spiraling to blast the organs in light The soothe and the burn. This bed is a mimic, fluffed with down in white height as it traps the dark under it's comfort and we cover our eyes 'till the fabric walls turn floral blue and our eyes dissolve pale oceans. This blanket keeps us because your skin is it's favorite sleep. This room, keeps the sun, because there's no better afternoon, morning, oncoming dusk snack. Spoonfuls of millions of liquid degrees, tempered through window glass and velvet, cracking the ceiling from the walls to peer in at us, just by the tip of it's fingers. "I'll be this strong some day and you'll finally swallow me", I say to the hungry comforter around my legs, "Don't worry, you mimic well, and it's a very 'sun' thing to do... We shall sleep in symbiotic resistance".