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POETRY
Sun
Sometimes I love you
a little too much
friend-foe, driving force
you’re not what I should be
orbiting around: my skin protests
but your light draws me out
again and again
not as a worshipper but almost
a servant, ready for your illumination
and all the metaphors
that come following after
I write these poems each morning while I’m under the umbrella on my patio, squinting against the newly-slanted sun, and trying to keep one eye on my wanderlust-drunk orange cat. Thank you for reading!
