Sun

You meet.
Immediate warmth,
immediate embrace.
Midas' kiss turns you golden,
and brown.
You are judged,
brown or red.
Either way,
your brow shines.
You squint,
flecs of him
are left in your eyes.
At the end of his rule
you peel away his traces.
but he leaves you,
for nights on end.
As flowers do,
your eyes follow his every move.
Silently, and every morn,
he brushes you to wake.
Hopefully he will return,
wishes every breath you take.