You, in your white t-shirt,
your elegant smile,
and your deep dimples,
and your brown eyes,
hotter than the sun.
My summer paradise is really made of all
Your tan skin,
and childish angels,
wet kisses and watermelon baths.
My summer paradise is you running
after me in a field of white flowers,
under the azul sky
and butterflies in my belly.
Your playful hands and the French music
in your car, driving all over the city.
You say; mon ami
all eyes on me.
And you are my summer paradise.
Pink sunglasses and diamond rings,
we re-new our I love you’s and
I let my hair grow long for you.
Kisses on my cheek from kids,
and picking flowers for you.
I promise I will become your summer paradise.
You love me in a sweatshirt
when my eyes are full of soft rain.
You buy me chocolate
and walk me down the beach at sunset.
You collect the prettiest rocks for me,
and you are my best friend.
My summer paradise is writing you
Your small prayers, you say
when my head is on your chest.
God have put all the paradises and all the summers in you, my darling.
“Shawnnnnn, I wanna do something,” you said, dragging out the last letter of your boyfriend’s name. It was a Sunday morning, and according to Shawn, Sundays were meant for staying in. Though you loved his cuddles, you decided that staying in bed was getting boring.
“We’re in each other’s presence,” he said, “I think that that’s good enough, yeah?”
You felt your face grow hot, as it always did when he would drop even the simplest compliment, though you weren’t sure that was meant to be taken as a compliment.
“I love you, but can we get up?” You turned around in your position as the little spoon to face him, studying the shadows that were projected onto his face. The sun peeking through the blinds drew light and dark stripes across his chocolate eyes, chapped strawberry lips, chiseled jaw.
“I’m lazy,” he replied. “And stop staring, weirdo.”