His face is a flower.
His eyes are blooming wide,
But half shut,
Scanning across the room in a daze.
Seeing,
But not really seeing.
And those cheeks.
Oh, oh,
How they light up my sky.
Roses grow from his tongue,
Reaching out
Pinching his cheeks.
That mouth.
Unbound,
Those crushed strawberry lips.
Teeth bright as the moon
And I picture fields of clovers.
A chase of sort.
I run from those blooming eyes,
His rose cheeks,
Crushed strawberry lips,
And moon teeth.
Yet I secretly hope he'll catch me.
