When the Sun Loved the Earth

Once upon a time,

there was a star—

a goddess radiant—

driven away

by the hatred

of her brother,

Susanowo.

Domination.

He could not bear

her brilliance,

her ungovernable glow.

He cast her into shadow,

forced her into exile—

1.58e–5 lightyears away.

Silenced.

She hid in a cave of sky,

a chamber of distance and fire,

severed from

her earthly lover

by a veil of atmosphere,

a haze of shame,

a line on the horizon

thin as a scar.

Separation.

The world below

began to forget

that the Sun was never

his.

She is not a man.

She is not a god

in the image of kings.

She is a force

unto herself—

the giver of life,

the harbinger of death.

She is heat,

she is passion,

she is fire.

Creation. Destruction. Rebirth.

Before temples rose from stone,

before laws named love a sin,

the Earth and Sun

were lovers.

Wild. Unwritten.

Sacred.

But the myths changed.

They erased

the golden fusion of women,

called it myth,

called it madness—

called it wrong.

Appropriation.

The Earth still remembers.

She dreams of her forbidden star—

the warmth of her smile

at dawn,

the touch of her fire

at dusk,

the shimmer that once

set her skin aglow.

Without her,

the Earth grew cold.

Her rivers receded,

her mountains wept stone.

Without her,

the blood in her veins

turned to ice.

Without her,

the planet dimmed.

Withering.

Still, Earth longs.

She burns

for the one who once

made her molten—

who kissed her into being

with light.

Remembrance.

And sometimes,

despite the scorn of galaxies,

despite the rage of gods,

the Sun slips down—

secret and shimmering—

to touch her lover again.

In twilight,

between veil and veil,

she dares to descend.

Golden light brushes

the Earth’s soft edges—

a flirtation,

a memory,

a rebellion.

Liberation.

The Earth blushes

like a young miss,

hues of rose-tinted gold

rising in her cheeks.

She arches gently

into the glow,

remembering what it meant

to be loved

without permission.

In these stolen moments,

she is again

an explosion—

lava,

heat,

undiscovered.

Copulation.

They make love

in the hush

before the stars emerge,

in the breath

between dusk and dark—

and then,

the Sun must leave.

Exiled once more,

mourning

the long winter night.

But she will return.

She always returns.

And the Earth,

ever faithful,

will bloom again

in her arms.

Resurrection.