freckles
freckles are
the snowflakes of summer,
the reason i like this season best,
the reason i love you most.
sunny days and a sprinkler
showering my bare arm
is the way you make me feel;
sunscreen and freshly mowed lawns
are the way you smell to me;
and if you ever kissed me,
the taste would be
lemonade after a concert,
the marshmallow
i almost dropped into the fire,
the air at the top
of that mountain we climbed.
if you were autumn,
i could leave you behind—
winter, i could forget—
spring, and we could both
grow into new someones
and be content with what
we once had when
the cherry blossoms still
clung to the trees and smelled
like new.
but we are both summer.
we are summer and air
and red kites in the blue
colorado sky and songs
around dusky campfires
while the stars and galaxies
collide overhead and we
revolve like rings around saturn
never touching but gravity
holds us together;
we are a box full of homegrown
peaches and a mailbox
of handwritten letters sealed
in tries and failures;
we are the answer
on the tip of a tongue
while the fireworks
go off on the fourth of july;
we dance the songs
of the big brass band
in pinstripe suits
but i never took the hand
that invited me
into the music.
and i hope that someday
you feel this same way.
i hope that the bold colors
of summer paint in me
twenty seconds of insane courage
so that i can tell you
about the way i see the sky—
but until then,
i will write you a poem
for every freckle on your cheek.
i took the freckles from your cheeks
and plotted them on a map
with my green eyes the grass
and your blue eyes the river
i followed,
with my hair muddy banks
and yours strawberry fields
where you sang and played
a broken ukulele
just to say you did.
and when i have made my map
i leave
and you forget
even though my course is charted
by your beat in my ears.
my heart evaporates
because i have been
a part to a whole
but i am not the half you want.