HER

Lightning storms on her
thighs
Freckles on her hands like dewdrops
Her voice hoarse and yet softened like
honeycomb
Her back firm and yet cushioned like the trunk of a palm tree The folds at the corners of her eyes, Which have seen in the dark And the corners of her nose,
Which have breathed in fresh air in smoky rooms,
Reaching down like valleys To the corners of her lips,
Which have kissed temples and made them sacred,
These creases of silk, they tell you
That she has laughed like every joy in the world
Was ever and will always be hers.
And yet there exists nature within her that cannot be seen.
Like the current, the waves, Where she pushes you forward With an urge to come with So much so that she’ll flood the earth.
And sometimes she feels the fire Burning at the side of her face When he first stole a place there with
The palm of his hand. And the earthquakes that toiled to break her cities Allowed mountains to grow in their spot. And every rain is a renaissance. And her heart beats as loud as thunder To cover the sounds of gunshots