Your mosaic soul shows cracks, shattered glass,
jagged on the edges
and red where your pricked your fingers trying to pick them up.
I see pieces putting together something greater.
your water color freckles,
splattered over pale skin.
I'd compare them to the constellations, but those are just shapes
and the path im tracing with my fingers tells me much more.
there's no dawn in your golden brown eyes,
the sun I see shinning through stained glass is too bright to be just barely rising.
you are reckless laughter caught in a shutter
a frame by frame moment of the last trickles of childhood
blackness blurring the edges around you
from being left too long in the developer.
your lips feel like oil pants,
sliding over mine like a blank canvas,
I can still see the masterpiece you made me into.
I can still feel the whips of graphite tears pouring down your cheeks as you let all of the art you hold inside.

Feet pressing
into soft ground.

Bits of wet soil
paint our sandals.

With the incline
rises my gaze.

Mud spots legs
and freckles appear.

A smile touches within
seeping out.

Receded then as
a spring in cold months.

Suds soon would
wash away the
speckles of folly.

There are things that I think that I need
and things that I think I need but I actually just selfishly crave.
I don't know if it is the first or the latter, but I just want you to look at me.
Not just a passing glance, but really look at me;
see me for what I am and what I have to offer.

Look at my freckles and see more than freckles.
See the rain drops on the pavement,
the constellations and music notes.
Read my cheeks like sheet music.
Create a symphony out of those brown spots that all other men see as ordinary.

Touch my skin.
I never use enough lotion.
Do I need it?
Of course not.
My skin is softer than a mothers breast,
It can soothe you like cashmere.
It could ignite a hunger in you like the fuzz on a peach.
Take a bite.
I taste delicious
I know it.

But you don't know it.
You're starving and you don't even realize it.
You wouldn't know a good thing if it fell from heaven and hit you
square in the face.
I could be worth a million dollars,
I could be a movie star,
and still you would walk by like I am plain as a white  brick wall with not an ounce of graffiti on it.

See me.
Let me in.
Let me fill you up,
let me call you home.

The freckles on your face blend your skin in a blanket of unique criteria

**** me in a summer dress
all pastels and spaghetti straps
kicked off ballet slippers and a green cardigan

sweat with me in a bus stop
we wait to ride downtown
our cheeks sun-burn blushed and shoulders freckled

swim with me in the river
polka dotted swimsuits and a sweaty beer
inner-tubes and soggy hair. a big wet dog.

sit in the grass and itch your legs
wearing jean shorts and cotton t shirts
black sunglasses and white earphones, hot cigarettes

invest in a fan for your room
while we sweat through the blue dotted sheets
peel off sticky underwear and wipe your damp forehead

washing grass stains from my dress
pastels stained and straps loose
ballet slippers and a green cardigan

**** me in a summer dress

She was lovely
With hair that fell in soft curls
And skin that was soft and light
Her freckles were like stars
Forming constellations
And her eyes were like the sky
That had married with the sea
And moss that grew on the edges
Of great boulders
She was strong
She was lovely
She could move mountains
But she never saw herself as such
Like Aphrodite she was perfect
But she saw Hephaestus everyday
How do you make the sun see itself?
The moon reflects its light
But the sun never cares
She was the sun
I was the moon
She was lovely
But she never knew.

your freckles form constellations all over your body
and i'm the astronomer
connecting each dot with my lips

I started the process of memorizing you today

35 freckles on your right shoulder and a break in the cartilage on your right ear near the top was as far as I got

I think even if I have 100 more years in your arms, I'll never know how many individual hairs you have on your chin or why you sound like you're dying when you sleep

What an exciting thought
To never know all of you

I don't know if your I love you means what it means for me
Someday maybe I will

Or maybe I'll spend my whole life trying
To hear all your thoughts behind
the words
I love you

When you look at yourself,
Your psychedelic bruises,
Your prosperous veins,
Your ever-increasing freckles,
The stretch marks on your hips,
Your ever-so-slight collarbones,
Your deep blue eyes,
And you say
"Why can't I be lovely?"

Understand that when I look at you,
I see the endless galaxies,
The roads yet to be travelled,
The marvellous constellations,
I see the lines of Jupiter,
The glorious mountains,
I see the wondrous ocean.
So when I say
"Darling you already are"
Know that when I look at you,
I see my world.