Kayla Senne (2022)
Does the light of 12 hours dare compete with her soul?
I fret not the potential of dimming
Her ignition fueled by the world’s coal
Inexplicable zeal for life brimming
Warm, frigid is the absence of her embraces
The male gaze infatuated with her gleam
Nurturers of time in attempt to paint their faces
Yet not she knows, does not know it may seem
Now I mustn’t compare
I know not such a thing
Could hold a light to her air
Oh, my yellow! How your hue can cling
Let the somber cross her path in hopes of a ray
Ever so convivial, as honeyed as her sachet
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