My skin is speckled
With small, dainty brown spots
Formed by genetics and
Too much sun exposure, too little sunscreen over the years.

Someone once called them angel kisses,
Indications where lips can fall
And rest momentarily,
Just as the angels did to create them.

They freckle my body
Like stars plastered across the sky;
Randomly placed, no real order.
Like ornaments, they are little imperfections to decorate me.

If you'd like,
If you'd please,
Kiss them one by one,
Connecting them into constellations.

Trace your lips along the spots
To form the Big Dipper,
Libra and Orion's Belt.
Your lips become thread this way,

Weaving through these marks
To sew me up, keep me together.
Your lips created a stitch,
Making me your personal constellation.

I'll shine as bright as those stars,
Gleam and glow in the dark as you kiss the spots
Across the landscape that is me,
Your lips ignited them into constellations,

And I'd never felt so *alive.