if we blew out the sun,
darkness would encroach this
defensive halo;
its layer of comfort–
blankets, pillows, sheets.

but we can’t erase the light.

the shadows see the light
as a buffet, a feast.
they would consume
our warmth, our comfort,
our shining haven
before we could
light a match to compensate.

we could set a candle ablaze
or send a pyre up in flames
mourning the loss
of our gorgeous sun.

but who’s to say
the shadows wouldn’t swallow
that small freckle of light
too?

it’s good we can’t erase the light.

instead, we pull our quilt close
and wrap our arms around each other,
waist to waist,
shoulder to shoulder,
exhaling in harmony.
our breaths tickle each other,
and there’s faith in your laugh–
a belief in the sun’s perpetuity,
trusting in daylight's permanence,
and we see it reflected in our smiles.

together, we lay
and as a single entity,
laying on a bedspread of golden rays,
we sink into the warmth,
the burning heat–
it’s a steaming shower on a cold day,
a toasted marshmallow
after the sun’s made its descent.

but even after it’s disappeared,
we remain
and the knowledge that it exists
resides with us.

the light shines benevolently
over a new crowd,
all new faces
but we endure
on the surface of this
great ball of gas.

we see stars twinkling
in the distance.
both Ursa Major and
Hollywood’s newest starlet–
any difference is indiscernible
from the sun.

laying in our protective bubble of blankets,
we get to watch the stars float by.

all is well.