Toasted

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You whispered to me once

That the sunlight looked so good on my skin,

Toasted with a tint of caramel,

Your favourite sight to wake up to

In the morning.

In an attempt to express my appreciation

For that comment, 

I lovingly made you eggy French toast

Toasted with a tint of caramel,

You called it your second favourite

Sight to wake up to in the morning.

I thought about what time of day

Looked best on you,

And concluded it was the golden hour

The hazy, soft pinkness that

Precedes the sunset,

That clothes the muscles on 

Your back in a warm glow

Giving me an exact outline

To trace with my lips. 

I tried to take a picture of 

That time of day,

To capture the vibrancy and 

The quietness with which it appears

And show you what I mean,

But its gentle presence, 

Like yours, 

Was short-lived.

The darkness of the night 

Seeped out too soon.

I am learning to live with this,

And I hope that one day

When I wake up 

And gaze in the mirror, 

I’ll see myself

Toasted with a tint of caramel,

And be able to call it,

My favourite sight in the morning,

Instead of just yours.