There are flowers
Drawn in the side of your face
With scars
And that pastel chalk that always finds ways to stain your fingers.
The dust in your palms is hard to wash off and
I'm sorry that the cracks in this sidewalk found their way
Into your heart
But dandelions still manage to slip through the concrete.
Your touch reminds me of stained glass and the feeling you get right before you fall asleep when the universe is at peace with itself.