Zoe.

Just a poem about my best friend, who left the country yesterday. Love you. x

Sunlight sticks to hair,
fine-tuning it gold.

You're blonde, I say,
teasing, and she scoffs
in disagreement.
No, I'm not! she cries.

Laughter. Yes, Zoe.
You're not blonde.

Just honey-haired,
Just tanly-tressed,

Just dark wheat locks
with milky skin,

Like cookies and cream
on a warm
monsoon night.

Comforting,
reassuring.
And what else, Zoe?

Whiskey eyes -
Eyes to drown in,
Drown all your sorrows in

Because you listen,
you always do.

Button nose, like
like the pixies
in fairy tales.
(But you're real.)

Pixie dust freckles, too,
spilt across your nose
and your cheeks.

Like cookie crumbs
that lie in the milk
after you've dipped them.

Plains of bronze skin
amongst the milky,

From when the sun
forgot to stop staring
at you, and left marks.

Small nails, bitten,
just like mine.

Just like me.

Except we're different,
and maybe that's why
I'll always remember you.

(You'll always be blonde
to me.)

The End

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