It's morning where you are

Your oven-baked body
in the morning calm;
flashing them eyes
like little bombs;
with pasta for hair,
and a face to bury,
the sun's on your back
with nothing to carry.
I swear you're on fire,
cos' you're starting to glow;
you're not even trying,
but it doesn't even show.
Now wake me up slowly,
tug me at my seams;
take me where you are,
where you're not just a dream.