your body is an atlas

I cannot count the hours spent lost in the roads

of the veins on your wrists

and the scars on your knees as lakes pool from you temperate thunderstorms

your shoulders are a forest in which every freckle a tree

that I've kissed and brushed my name through slowly

into your paper thin skin that folded back with loving hands

I want to spend
The rest of my life
Counting the stars
On your skin
I want to trace
The constellations
Across your body
With mine

I've fallen in love
With all of you
From the stars
In your eyes
To the constellations
On your skin

I swore that I knew you
just like the back of my hand
every blemish, every freckle,
every scar, was you

But now
My blemishes begin to even out
My freckles, rearranging themselves
And any old scars are fading.

The breaking light of day danced
in deep blue fissures in her eyes
mimicking the ocean before her,
sunlight glinting off of flecks of gold
as he longed to be the subject of her gaze.
He saw the way the rising Atlantic sun
     kissed
         her
            freckled
               face,
and in that moment
he knew he wanted nothing more
than to kiss her in that way
every sacred morning
for the rest of his life.

his fluid being mimics that of cigarettes;
death chopped up and rolled
into a curious little thing

i could hold him in my hands
but that is a mere only;
his wonderment insufficient
my soul too mammoth

my lips crave the grim reaper's touch
my skin detests the flawlessness of
staged idiosyncrasy
this world has seen enough
of those
you yell misanthrope,
but you do not understand

i seek
the intertwining of
precariousity
intimacy marked by fluttering thumbs
tracing specks of golden
on his cheeks

galaxies splashed across the
bridge of his nose
he is everything i yearn
yet;
everything i cannot be
he is my exotic morns
and my sunday siesta
fingertips outline
connect-the-dot maps
i could only ever get lost in


freckles.

like a lacklustre silence
the end of sentences pinpointing areas
chipped fingernails have lusted to memorise

you only crave what you know cannot be.

every summer, your freckles come out like a broad Irish galaxy.
the planets are summer days that I wish I could waste with you.
and there is a star for every single dance I wish I'd have had with you.
an asteroid belt of insults and haphazard tweets.
but I slide on, a lonely astronaut,
skimming your freckled universe.