non-recipient love prose

i try to be a warm sun in a very real emptiness but do i burn your skin? do i dehydrate or confuse you make solitary starry nights the better? or am i more like a cold morning that never shakes off by the end of the day words slippery and hazardous like the iced concrete beneath your already weary legs not a beautiful romantic sharp fog biting on your neck and chapping your lips exemplifying the comfortable cosy feeling of the blanket we share. no not a sexy evening fog at least maybe a passion like lightning dangerously close, streaking across complicated, mountanious skies burning all with it's touch, you but somehow do not fry, all grounded through you the storm sulks slowly away into a soft drizzling rain reminscent of your soothing breath and fluttering eyelids as the curtains shut close, the sky still flashes from far away sleep seduces you away from whatever more advances nature had intended.