STARE AT THE SUN

What happens
when you stare
at the sun,

when your
arrogant heart
points too high
and the burn
is not enough
to deter you?

Well I like it hot,
here with my eyeballs
on my sleeve
and a darkness
I mistake
for light.

You with
your song-
filled skin
and my
bed an
empty
measure, I
reach for
you with
quarter note
hands
and singed
eyebrows.

Tell me a story,
let it be about

your shoulders
warm between
my teeth,
let it be about

your matchstick
chin against my
kindled rib cage,
let it build

around a zipper
and let me take
it down, notch
by silver notch.

What happens
when you stare
at the sun,
when you lie

in bed with
it under the
suffocating moon,
when you tell

it secrets,
thrown corner by
corner into
its hungry
mouth?

Will you burst into solar flames?

or will you
simply flicker?