The Sun, You and Me (an intimate relationship)

A melting squirt of hot sun
on your hair treacles through
a filter of autumn leaves,
Ripe to be crunched by gravel teeth

Thus your hair bakes to
a cookie like heat
in the grasp of my seared fingers
is a perception of happiness.

Shall we look on each other
with shining eyes of warmth
and see a reflection
of eternal inner self?

But one day the leaves will crunch
under landscape's mortar and pestle.