Fair is her hair on a sunday afternoon.
purple is the sky we lie under
in the evening,
watching stars but not meaning to.
dirty, eyes tired,
dazzed and confused.
not sure what we want,
but letting our bodies tangle on their own.
in the fumbling semi-dark
there is nothing as romantic as a moon,
nothing as sweet as chocolate lips,
just teeth we forgot to brush a few too many times,
and starlight.
with her arms around my shoulders,
in the dewy grass,
so many silly boys
forgotten.