I don't know what it is about your smile- it's too speckled, and your bed is too itchy
I am a whirlwind of freckles and why are you with me? You tear out your hair but
I can't help but stare
when you're talking about how I'm as pretty right now as I ever was
(but we both know I was kinda fat, and I'm not that attractive.)
You keep me like the ice in my tea, always shivery sweet and I guess you
complete every sentence I say and every day you do something wrong but I play along
because your hand in another would just smash up my strong will and I'm
still reeling from the time I let my head rest on your sweaty chest and asked about
the last time you had butterflies, and you said right now.
And then I complained about how my hot face was stuck to your skin. And you said
right then it was yours for the peeling but I don't like that feeling and
that moment was fleeting, because I don't need ours to be infinite. When we finish it,
I will be fine. Because you are mine and we will keep having millions.