Skin

my skin

lines
etched in time upon the road maps
of this living,
                           breathing,
                                                     aging,
                                                                       body.
  a wish for a curious mind,
                                                  a lucky hand
                                            to trace the winding lines
connect the dots, the spots
                                          marks and scars.

must  have an eye for mystery
       one that sees not an old, saggy
                                          bag of bones and fat
but sees
                   a  woman.

a woman who  has loved, lived, who has been
 broken
                 and re-born;
sees not an imperfect
                             surface but instead,
                                      a landscape
 of songs, curses, dreams and heartbreaks.

my skin

rarely boring and never smooth
                       sailing
                                         always real,
now ready,
                  waiting to share.