A Study of Physicality

[klena]

The winter months chill
my fingers until they are no
longer my fingers but
long strands of ice.

Yet I have blood yet
and my touch upon you
would be warm and
filled with passion, if not heat.

I am shaped like no nymph,
for nymphs are lithe and fae
and
I am not.

I have curves and
ripples that do not always
grace me in photographs
but they are mine

(even if secretly I sometimes wish they were not)

My wrists can ache
for they were once broken
and weather can, on occasion,
wound me.

Generous poets and friends would
name my hair a river of curls
- golden as a child, now
a myriad - copper, magenta, white, blue, blonde

And today I can cope with my hair
but tomorrow I may not, and will instead
bind it in twists and numerous plaits
to my satisfaction.

I speak not of my face -
we quarrel often and to no avail.
Sometimes we are content with each other
and sometimes not

My top lip vanishes when I smile fully
and I feel conscious of this -
my eyebrows do not match my hair!
but my eyes are large and long-lashed

and even if the colour is not
striking or fair or easy to tell,
I am still content
for they, and all above, are mine

And that is what comprises me.