because i know this to be true


whether Your veins flow in shades of


or blueberry

they hold magic sweeter than any fruit,

stringing Your body like a precious pearl.


I hope Your heart offers a beat

to which You can freely sing


if it doesn’t 

know that Your words are dressed 

only with loveliness

because who can resist someone

so lusciously entrusted

with the power of existence?



if they shoot “thunder thighs”

it is because their understanding 

of flawlessness

is clouded by the roaring of Your own.


Your eyes are so much more than the color

of mud,

       they are sweet molasses dollops,

             a one hundred year-old oak,


than what lies beneath feet,

to be stepped upon, squished 

worthless toe jam.


Your skin will never be ivory,

but why dream of

being something so hard,

when You are soft, malleable,

composing a symphony of elements

that far outnumber the sad strums 

of brittle solid?


Self-love will present Herself

in disguise,

(at first a cautionary tale

 “do not become vain”)


allow Her in, 

take Her coat,

She will point out the way in which

no galaxy

can mimic the pattern 

of Your birthmarks.

She will take Your hand and press it to Your neck

allowing the blood

to drum a lilting lullaby. 

She will graze the blister on Your ankle

marking the places you have been

and what You had endured to get there

(to get here)

and She will kiss Your cheek,

leaving a magnificent stain,

as though a mirror all along,

as though a





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