Spoiler
So, I started out attempting to write a love poem about a boy with freckles, and I mean, he has a lot of freckles. But does it seem less like a love poem and more like a poem about, well, just freckles?
I’ve been trying all night to kiss away your freckles
with every press of my lips to your cheek –
forehead, nose, arms, all over.
I even wasted what seemed a lifetime
in a fruitless attempt to rub away the constellation
that’s resting in the crook of your elbow.
The sun is getting close
and I’m scared that if it does dare rise,
your body will cease to reflect the stars
and the moon that is your mouth will fade away.
What then will I kiss?
