We made a plan to island hop
across a southern sea.
Our breakup caused that plan to pop,
yet on her own went she.
But islands with their shores of sand
hold less appeal for me
than those I traveled with my hand,
in love, caressingly:
I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.
The islands where we would’ve traveled
surely have their charms,
but I prefer, though love unraveled,
those sprinkled on her arms:
I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.
A constellation on a sky of skin,
an archipelago of melanin,
surpassing all the islands where she’s been,
I traveled through the love that we were in:
I don’t miss southern islands
where I may never go
but miss the islands of
her freckle archipelago.
Mario A. Pita
Snapshot Couplets 