his body, the sun

his body, the sun

blinds me with its brightness
heat rushes across my body
like a brushfire in dry summer.
I sculpt wings from wax, only
wanting closeness, knowing
all the myths, knowing how
it is that fire burns;

still I long to touch him, to
hold that light in my hands. I
would do anything to reach him
that fiery star lighting the world
within me, moving like ocean
inside me, making me blush
hot ruby pink under his gaze.

His lips melt against mine and
I sense the softening of these
sculpted wings. I will drown
in this desire, as insignificant
as Bruegel’s Icarus; who was I
to think I could pretend to be
anything other than mortal?

Originally published in Feather Lit


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