I counted her freckles like rings
in a tree trunk, soft kissed by the sun,
and on particularly warm summer nights
I lose the number, finding myself instead
tracing her face, hinting at red,
burning as another day
fades gentle, another mark of beauty.
It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Mish is hosting and asks us to include the word “freckle” or any form of the word in our Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words, sans title).