Sometimes when you’re sitting there alone
And you think no one’s looking,
I try to count every freckle on your face—
Only I’ve never made it all the way
Before I have to hide my gaze.
Freckles glimmering, like bits of
Broken stained glass sprawled out upon
A cathedral floor—a hallowed mosaic
Of alabaster and crimson.
I like to imagine that every one of them
Is a bottled-up spark of fury waiting
To be released by balled-up fists and
Screaming until your voice goes hoarse,
Or I imagine each is the printed memory
Of a tear shed for a dream that never
I want to take you at dusk.
I want to look up at you from my bed
And watch your face become my
I want to count each one of your claret
Stars and make a wish upon every crimson
Let me breathe life into all of them at last.
Let me give form to the faceless contours
That have plagued your sleep since you
Were a girl.
The untouchable dreamscapes that elude
Your mind’s eye every morning—
Let me paint them on the warm canvass
Of your rose-speckled body.
Just to be here with you,
Looking into your lonely eyes,
Cradling your auburn head,
Running my hands over the colorful
Freckle islets that remain hidden beneath
Shades of black and white during daylight—
Is the blossoming of every pipe dream I ever
Dared allow take root in this sullen heart.
From this day forth, I’ll never be lost again,
No matter how dark it gets
As I wander through this shadow world—
With nothing more than your freckles
To guide me home.
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