Dust smudges my glasses
and your freckles burn my skin.
Through panes of glass the colours swirl,
bright hue of your skin,
deep brown of your eyes,
all things you own and I may never possess.
Differences in feel of fit and flesh,
knuckles on bone,
knuckles on lips,
lips on lips,
lips apart, breathing in the dirt.
Dirt in lungs,
in ribs,
in flesh,
in agony as the sun burns on.
But the dust smudges my glasses
and I cannot see.
You freckles, spots of ash, burn holes into my heart.