Sunburst

Something draws your gaze
Into the brushstrokes of this exotic face
Like it was parchment
And my features were mystifying to look at
Like ancient symbols
Whispered in forgotten library sections
Storing books whose pages
Have not tasted the sweetness of sunstruck
Autumn air and can barely breath
Without asthmatic strain.
And when you see these pupils,
You see the brittle bindings and
Little tying together of the spines
Of Old French romances
And Sanskrit love lyrics
That garner their golden letters
For one last sunburst through the pores of my smirk.

And we haven't even spoken yet.