By: Kahill Perkins

I have so many secrets to tell you through soft poems and open mouthed kisses on rosy flushed cheeks of best friends turned lovers and onto mothers and peaches bought from roadside shacks on small town access roads; toothy grins slyly hanging onto our faces —  
scars, and sun spots on our skin tell the tales of our adventures like my great aunt’s rusty red spell books she keeps in the kitchen pantry, someday we’ll fill our pens with ink and write love letters to our youth for our babies to find, and they will sing while they light a fire in the yard, tossing the ashes unto the driveway — 
wobbly knees will ask how we met, and the sly smile from our youth will slip out like it has been waiting just below the surface, it will say, hunny, we met, in the sweaty summer of too young for love, and in the dark and crowded shoulder bumping building, we locked eyes and we then decided, we would, bump smiles for eternity, honey —
we met twice, honey, we fell off our roller skates in the dark and we crashed stories into one another’s tale, but, baby we were waitin’ oh we were waitin’ on that crash, we will ride in the car, windows filling with sunset, we will pull up to the water, and smile, then scream, pure unfettered joy into the so entirely familiar cove, we will tell our babies our love was made from brick roads and macaroni and hot dogs, and i hope they 
understand. That here is the place of laughter and rebellion that no matter who we are there is a funny gap between freedom and fate just like in my front teeth, 
And honey oh honey this is free as we get.