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.