That little boy we both know, his nose dabbed
with whipped cream, smiling ice cream lips,
chin speckled with sprinkles like his freckles.
everything that feeling is, is you.

the sky blushed black,
freckled stars dotting her inky cheeks.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's you?
Maybe it's us,
In a coffee shop,
Telling stories and trading smiles.
Never thinking too far ahead,
because the now is so **** perfect.
And never caring about mistakes,
because I'm too focused on your freckles.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's in your writings?
You make me sound,
So ******* loved,
You have no clue how much that means.
You write of the me that you know best,
the boy who hurts but loves to smile,
I feel so real from your point of view,
and I love that I'm always on your mind.

You asked where my happy place was,
Could I say that it's when your in my arms?
Holding the stars,
and the flowers,
and pressing them close against my heart.
Keeping my world safe from harm,
while finding comfort in your touch,
Keeping my fears locked away,
because you scare away the dark.

You asked where my happy place was,
and I couldn't narrow it down to one,
So for now I find joy in three places,

Your smile,
Your art,
Your touch.

gold in your hair,
denim on floor,
mistakes in bed,
bathing in each
other’s cologne,
i trace the freckles
on your back,
no more time to
talk, time has
hopped on a Cadillac,
purple becomes
my new skin tone,
one seal breaks
and now im in the
lost virtues zone,
my name becomes
your only vocab,
shortly after
I had it unwrap.

The sun was out.
The grass was green.
there was a sprinkle of rain.
And a sky full of blue.

You wore a calming yellow.
and a smile that showed in your eyes.
and when I wasn't thinking of your freckles,
I was thinking of how nice these little moments are.

there is nothing more perfect
than the freckles on your nose,
and the way they scatter like raindrops
on your cheeks.

they remind me of a sky
with new fallen snowflakes,
each one different
in size and shape.

i know how much you hate them,
you say they're distracting,
misformed,
or decorate your face wrongly.

maliciously, you cover them,
peach-colored paint dries
the bridge of your nose cracks,
and a piece of you fades with it.

summer comes and the paint melts off,
the facade with it,
and once again the sun can paint
drops of caramel on your skin.