Freckles and Magic

She was all freckles and magic, 
this girl that lived next door, 
pebbles on her window, 
and she was suddenly there, 
she took my hand, 
as the moon pinched at our skin 
and my heart beat fast 
as her warmth swallowed me up. 

It was back through the garden 
and the hole in the fence, 
along the path I’d made as a boy — 
knights in our stories — 
a thousand times I’d run this trail 
but not with her. 

On we ran into the silver-spotted black, 
quick-moving feet 
along the picket-patched-paths of moon-light, 
sprinkling and sparkling 
along the mossy floor. 

Her face was everything 
that young love should be, 
and it swallowed me 
with every look. 

The stars were alive for us 
and we shared them 
as only young love could. 

We ran through moving vines, 
into a painted silver meadow, 
where we sailed 
through the tall milky grass, 
like a wooden boat, 
through a silver sea. 

And there we found our castle, 
an old stone house, 
where a moss covered chimney 
stood alone to spill 
the secrets of its life. 

So on that sweeping grass we laid, 
and spilled our dreams, 
as only young love could, 
And when we saw a shooting star, 
we’d make a wish, 
And her face would tumble close to mind, 
a freckled nose as soft as snow. 

We knew no world 
passed what we saw, 
for ours was in our eyes. 

And so we lay 
with shooting stars 
and freckled skin, 
and promised our love 
would last forever, 
and so in our forever it would, 
there in a castle on top 
of blueberry hill 
with silver moon rivers 
and sailing ships. 

and we smiled 
as we stared 
at the world we made 
in the stars 
as only young love could.

xx Atticus
@atticuspoetry
www.atticuspoetry.com

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