the day we sat in the woods together
you on a log and me on your lap
was the first time i believe that i saw heaven.
it was raining
though we barely felt it underneath the trees' umbrella
and the sun somehow managed to curl through the cloud-covered sky
like fingers lacing through one another.
i rarely saw you looking at me. normally
your eyes are closed with laughter
or that same smile, the one that
cracks your entire face open
like a raw egg.
but that day
you looked at me.
if i could, i'd go on
for pages. novels. serieses.
about you and me and what we are.
but that would be overwhelming.
i could say for paragraphs
about how when i saw your eyes seeing me for what felt like the first time
i felt like it was my first time really seeing you, too.
does that make sense?
but you are so much more than just a pretty face to me, my love.
or a pair of pretty, pretty eyes.
if given the chance, i'd write a book about your body.
the way your cheeks turn red like ripe tomatoes (which we both hate)
whenever you're happy.
the way your hands feel against mine, the third degree burn scars covering them
rough and familiar to me. you always worry about seeming "gross"
but my love, there is nothing about you that doesn't scream ecstasy.
and your eyes. that is the entire point of this poem, isn't it?
i swear that they change color
the best way i can describe them is
fluorite crystals, raindrops, robin's eggs.
and still, you are more than that. much more.
you are my favorite feeling, my love.
YOU ARE READING
the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoetryA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
