The Sun

There are nights still When I long to call his bed my own Lying under his multicolored lights With him as my only home Those lights shone as bright and colorful as the shades of auroras I could peak in his sunset eyes Back when those eyes used to shine for a smile like my own That hard rock chest, who's texture I still remember as if it were my own skin There are nights still when I wonder of the hilarity of it His skin might be far from reach But the memories seep into my stream as if they made the compounds of my own blood He might be all skin, but his touch made my spirit burn anew His scent comes and goes while my soul screams As if he were nothing but a figment of my lucid dreams Real enough that you think you could catch them in the palm of your hand But fickle enough that they slip right through the gaps in your fingers There are nights still When I find my soul floating through the air in his room Remembering the bed, the lights, the mirror and now the birds who's cage he cannot help but poke through There are nights still Nights like this one, when my body craves his own Or maybe its my heart that calls his name Right until the morning, till I see him shine through the windows The same shade of gold as his skin, for his name means the Sun... But alas, even the Sun must set.