i know the flecks in the sun of her eyes.
they are the dark spots from which
solar flares will erupt.
emotions that throw themselves,
coming from below the surface
of wistful intent painted vermillion.
i know the flecks in the sun of her soul.
they are the instructions for what
my will is subject to.
emotions that throw themselves
at a receiving hollow receptacle
filling human void with
something cosmically alien.