Expressive, bright, her laughing eyes
how they sparkle when she thinks of something funny,
which is often
how it frequently translates into a gasp,
a giggle,
a guffaw,
A boisterous expression of joy,

Enchanting to some,
by other standards unremarkable
consider her mouth,
A bottom lip full and luscious,
the top, like her grandmother’s,
just too thin to register any colour of lipstick lighter than devilishly red,
Which is, coincidentally,
the only colour she uses,
Unlike her grandmother.

Early on it was pointed out
the lines of her shoulders are broad.
As a result,
now slightly curved from years of insecurity
their breadth might seem less than feminine.
Though the weight they are capable of carrying
Suggests an inherent femininity
like nothing else could.

Each of her arms,
that she wishes were stronger,
that will be one day,
how they can wrap so gently
and squeeze so tight.
Can swing and twist and jive
and can,
for the briefest of moments,
only the amount of time
it takes to do a cartwheel,
Support her entirely.

Examine her hands,
neither soft nor hard.
Both strong and fragile,
A dichotomy of dextrous fortitude and delicate framework
Having known pain and pleasure
In equal measure,
They understand more than any other part,
A need for mindfulness.

Even her torso, all soft curves and fluctuating appeal,
Supple skin, gentle scars,
round hips admired,
breasts just enough,
belly has good and bad days
of too much or just right
depending on which side the gaze comes from.

Elongated, her legs reach down to support,
Reach up to rock out.
Somewhere between fully grounded and high kick
These stems,
These gams,
These lengthy, muscled limbs
Whether encased in stockings
Or sunshine speckled and bare
Are celebrated for the support they offer.

the preferred state of grace
For those most extreme of appendages.
Bare feet coloured dusty summertime brown
Is the sight that makes her happiest.
This callused underpinning,
Carries her to all the places
She dreams of walking.

Erudite, her mind.
The dizzying intellect encapsulated within gray matter
Leaves her breathless in some moments
And like a dervish in another,
Whirling, close to lost
And found again a mere breath later.

this passionate character,
her dark eyes encompassing mystery
her skin craving gentle sensuous touch,
her soul filled with a music
That can make stars dance with abandon.

the judgements layered upon these parts,
found woefully lacking or worth celebrating,
reliant on the whims of a fickle perspective.

the patience to allow for time and space,
to grow within
to accept without,
to cultivate a mindset that allows for
perfect flaws
And imperfect wholeness.

She is more than sum
But not less than others.
She is refined and unfinished,a work in progress,
An experiment of what might happen
When silly meets joy
and wild finds focus.

There is delight