I am so thankful that your mouthful of 88 piano keys
charmed itself into my ear.
I am so lucky to have a handful of chocolate brown hair
in a bushel,
bunched up,
brushing my fingertips when you lie in my lap.
Your mouth slack and your pink lips parted ever so slightly.
Your rose-colored cheeks
and green eyes
and tan nose
and chestnut freckles
and blue-violet veins beneath the skin;
all the good colors of some angel
in a Renaissance painting.
Your eyelashes so soft and long
I close my eyes
and imagine them
brushing up and down the lеngth of my body.
If only I could be so small
to lie in your eyеlashes
as a hammock.
Swim in the whites of your eyes.
Dive off the Cupid’s bow of your lip.
Hang with two hands
from the corner of your smile
like Peter Pan from a clock tower.
Dance and splash
in the tiny brown puddles
of every single freckle.
Crawl into the lobe of your ear
and hide in the seashell cavern
where I can hear the ocean
and whisper it back to you.
Your face brings me all the joy of the entire world,
right to my bed.
Right to my hands.
Right in the breath like a tide in your chest.