the boys with smiles like honey,
sickly sweet serenity.
freckles and moles like constellations,
scattered on their cheeks, hands, jaw.
warm chests, nevermind the consequences.
the little curves in his collarbone,
the place where his neck and shoulder connect,
traces of cologne and his mom's detergent.
//
lowercase has been my thing recently. also, wow mika, he/him prounouns in a poem, that's ultra rare.
YOU ARE READING
the city
Poetryand no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016
