He has erratic curly hair that never quite lands right in the mornings before a shower and he has these little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling and scars on his knees and arms and just about everywhere and he has an awful tan that circles over his collarbones from being in the sun too long
He is a mess of a boy
My mess
His eyes are brown and warm and filled with love but he’s uncertain because he doesn’t have perfect skin and blue eyes because that’s what girls like to look into when they drown in blue waves filled with disappointment but I don’t want to drown
I crave to tell him: I just want to climb brown trees and build a house in those trees out of my love for you and your hair may not be perfect on those 5am mornings but to me it is beautiful and your skin may not be flawless but I would love to kiss the wrinkles that emerge from the soft corners of your eyes and make it my mission to catch each one with my lips
I would love to hear your voice and hold your hands and grace your lips with mine and trace every aspect of you with my eyes
And I would love for you to whisper in my ears and hold me and drag me into your gaze but all you want from me is my soul and you have already stolen it and I can’t seem to find it anymore
Another thing
How do you always find your way into my poems
