l. 
I will French kiss your ingrown hairs, your merigold bruises, and the acne you fight wars with every morning.

ll.
 I will caress your cellulite like the waves on the backs of your thighs are the fountain of youth. 

lll.
 I will ****** the folds of your tummy, the stubble underneath your arms, and the stretch marks that you don’t realize make you a ******* tiger, darling.

lV.
 I will fall in love with your flaws, and remind you of your perfections.
 I will kiss you when the boy you love breaks your heart and you just need something on your lips.
 I will hold your hand when you get your nose pierced and again when you regret it the next day.
 I will bring you Mountain Dew and Advil when you can’t get out bed for two days and when your dad tells you to **** it up, I will shut the door in his face and turn up the radio.

V. 
I will yell at boys who hurt you and at girls who think they know you. I will tell the “cool kids” to *******. I will argue with your parents and curse at your exes. I will be known as a ***** as long as you know me as someone you can’t count on.

Vl.
 I will love you when you hate me, when you hate life, when you hate everyone, and when you hate yourself. I will love you when it rains and when the sun beats down on us in June. I will love you when it’s 9:00 pm and we’re eating ice cream on my porch and I will love you when it is 2:30 am and you are gagging with salt in your mouth from crying for what seems like years.

Vll. 
I will always love you.

fissure in the fold
of an aging merigold
reminds me of death's
soul-bewitching breath;
and a once-devastating wild,
torn and ever-reconciled,
falls in a deep sleep just like a - like a child.

Almost as if he had been made
with sin itself, he grew
still a bud on toxic liquid love.
Loving the sweet lies

as the sun loved the moon.
Demons themselves
hide their nightmares in his reality,
with the same canvas crescents

like his.
His waist was sturd
thick as war walls
or a boulder’s heart.

His ears are the bridge
and threshold of a tardigrade,
his hands a dog strayed
with anger in newborn cities.

The heart lifts,
by another he floats
living a sentimental life
of the compressed truth

that has frozen and crackled.
The casted leg
pushes sideways to a safe
cold corner.

Who will say ‘man’
to his boy like core?
Who will say ‘smile’
to his twisted face?

And his plank knees,
a board more similar
as a newly painted fence
the cause of the breaking marriage.

In a doll house,
three old hearts and soft body
out of a picture book,
behind the curtains,

and now he hides
old models in my memory.
Using what little he borrowed,
the setting of pieces back in their place,

plastered on the wall
with sugar coated smiles and merigold lies:
with the help of a finger
too snagged itself

on his passing limbs
with the actual weight
of a lost boy,
still trying to be found.

The poppy fields, with their vibrant red bodies
And velvet black eyes, peer at the sky.
Liquid light, melts
Sand falling
Off the edge of the horizon
Scarlet and merigold,
poppies and sun,
The ideal backdrop for his return
He stands stagnant, perched on top of the hill, arms spread wide,
As tiny toes trample up the flaming ridge.
He drops his duffel, green for the badge he served,
Into the meadow.
Praying its memories sink into the rich soil.
They tackle him, embrace him in love.
Forcing him to the ground
Shoving bliss down his throat.
He holds them tight.
Tears blur his vision,
As a dandelion dress
Glides towards him.
She floats above the red, a bumblebee fertilizing the poppies.
Her pecan locks dancing behind her in the wind.
He sees the ring, the one he gave her,
Ensnared around her fourth finger.
She bends down,
Gracefully pulling the children away.
So she can see his face.
She wipes away his tears,
As her own fall down her dusty cheeks.
They embrace, her body crumbling into his.
Her lips, sweet maple syrup.
He stares at her,
There was no beauty where he had been.
The only red,
****** skies.
The only yellow,
Jaundice, in the sick bay.
He didn't remember true beauty
Until he saw her.
She is the blood in his bruised burqa veins,
the breath of fresh air,
That he will **** deep into his soul,
Whisking away
The dunes weighing down his heart.