To me, he was Summertime personified; with honey-hued arms and hair of sandy shores. Every utterance of speech that passed between his lips entrenched words to the vacuum of my naive heart. He was an extraordinary vision of tree-dappled sunlight and the very essence of his laughter lingered in the back of my mind until he possessed my every thought. In the effulgence of the scintillant moon, tingling stars kissed his skin and caressed the lustre of his beauteous gaze. He was joy in a storm, the lighthouse of my entire universe, the aroma ensuing rainfall and freshly cut lawns in the torrid August blaze. Those aureate flecks would dance on our eyelids, as ballerinas royally soaring from one nerve ending to the next. In the moment our rosebud lips coalesced an incipient flower bloomed; a metaphor of our love. The organs of his divine articulation were crimson as sweet berries. Nectarous and ambrosial was lying under pavonine, sorbet skies. Balmy and tranquil was our golden summer.
Then came the harsh of the winter. The calamity took place. Substance flowed from craters and crevices in your corium – congealing as glistening crimson rubies set in cold, rough stone. Constellations of emotion fall as my lashes flutter and flick away at the evidence of my ruptured heart; gems of cyan sadness against the white bareness of my cheek. Myriads of chalky glaciality flurry through the January firmament and deliquesce upon tangency with the warmth of my skin. I reach out to comfort you but your fingers are numb; tantamount to my senseless, paralysed core.
The last embers of the fire burn out in the black of night. Your precious sentience, confiscated with such wretched ease, sends a chill to my bones inordinately deeper than the arctic air which bounds me here. I examine the ambient radiance above: the only source of illumination. The celestial body… a city of stars.
And I am sure that embraced in that tangled web of beacons, I see you smile.