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.

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