petals of shine

sun soaked
no blonde hairs
what do you speak? I ask
the present tense. She replies

I feel what you feel
when the island sun turns to city grit

Nothing shines here
cloud soaked
neediness for shiny things to blind us

Swelling under concrete
shuffling and the press of bodies
I mumble in my magnificently unknown words
in the midst of the crowd

if we must go to extremes
give me maximum illumination 

Blind me with your sun
sweet sugar, brown woman
shed my layers with your exfoliating ways

How can I measure how I love you?
the way you exude your shine
how the metal of the city reflects on me
this is the color of my dreams