Hello goodbye San Diego. I’m off to say hello to the moon with my honey, in honor of our years. Because who said you need to get married in order to go on a honeymoon?
The pockmark on your face
is like a sun. The sweat can pool
a little there—a space to fill,
a crater. On sunny days my eyes
align along the landscape
of your forehead. Hair shorn
and clipped away, the scar
left from a chicken pock
tells me where the little
and the largest of my lovings go.
(thank you, katie conway, for photographing)