Click away now if you don’t want to read a gooey love poem...
“his face”
hpd // 02/02/19
I love his face. It is home. It is handsome and familiar. I see shield and vulnerability in his skin. His wisdom, calm, independence, and quirk scream aloud in the subtle movements of his face muscles beneath, and the complexity of his story is tightly woven into his brow. I enjoy years of shared memories replaying in his eyes, and rewind years of our conversations recorded on his lips. I grin at the tip of his nose, imagining the imprint of the thousands of kisses I have left there, and I smirk at his facial hair, thinking of how he will grow it out for me if I ask. I love it. I want his smiling face next to my smiling face in all my photographs. I want to see his face first thing in the morning and last thing at night. I want to watch his face grow sprinkled with life and etched with wrinkles, and join it as it unfolds into softer circles of self, maturity, and being fully known and fully loved.
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Thanks for reading.
Keep peace and keep creating,
Parker <3
P.S. Hi, Zack. Ily. Bye.
