You were never Summer’s baby

Why did you smile at summer when I’m warmer than him
And how dare you kissed him with the lips I own, when my kisses bloom garden on the pores of your skin

I absorbed the sun blessing in my fingertip to trace riches upon your discolored pigment
And borrowed heavens holy water to wash away summer’s kiss that may decay your inside like his other mistress

Why did you give strawberries to summer when my tongue is bitter for sweet
And how dare you take his palms with the hands I own, when my fingers squeeze apricot nectar upon your bread of wheat

I am your only beau
              For you were never summer’s baby.