Love is Light


Light at times rolls shy, dressing shapes

in sighs of hesitation. Drowning seconds,

apologising profusely as it delicately stabs

the fabric of life.

Light at times wishes it was honey. Not just

sunny but tender and palpable. Honey

gets to be devoured. Honey gets licked

of spoons and skin. Honey gets inside.

Light bounces; awkwardly, without leaving

even a tickle. At times it tried, but it burned

what it touched. So now it tiptoes through tragedy

on pink plush slippers woven from excuses.

For ever?

Well, you

can lift light.

Because you,

my love, have freckles on your lips.

And sometimes, honey.