I will take her to live by the Atlantic.
Every morning she will see the ocean’s great blue arms
stretching across the horizon to welcome her home like my own.
When the golden sun falls below the trees, it’ll reveal
stars and a disco ball moon that
we’ll dance under on the cool sand.
Her freckles are like a map of miles of road,
stretching into the swaying green grasses in her eyes and
the soft dunes of her lips. Her hair hangs about her face
like clouds tangled in sunshine,
masking cerebral thunder.
Her laughter rolls like the hills, and her
smile fits her cheeks like rivers fit the land.
Her lips are state fair funnel cakes in October,
leaving powdered sugar tracks across my collarbones.
She sits with her legs knotted in a breezy sky,
keeping her gaze on the tide of clouds above us.
I’ll only ever be looking at her.