Perhaps from a weird angle
I'm flattered by your summery nonsense;
if I cock my head just so
and squint unequivocally,
you'll blind me with a compliment
that feels nothing like stone,
and I can't help but shine as bright
as your golden demeanor
but then I remember to blink,
and like all beamy days
your outlook will ensuingly turn to dusk-
just another shadow,
quietly, tiptoeing off with the sun
