Dates

Dates

The sun spun you too
Sweet. Sugar like this
We were never meant to taste,
Sweetened as it is beyond
Any evolutionary benefit.
You're like living rooms
In which the sun's children
Have gotten a carried away,
Like a rich man's daughter who,
Invited to sit down and play,
Forgets herself while playing
Chopin and, realizing where
She is, stops abruptly and stares
In chagrin at her hands.
You dates are rooms where 
The sun's daughters blush 
The color of burns.