Face. It can't really be pulled apart. All works in tandem. Eyes and mouth are sweet soft at the same time. Cheeks flush and forehead sweats.
My face is delicate and sturdy. It is contradiction. Small features with big presence. There is sex in the arch of my eyebrow and survival in the protrusion of my chin. There are bruises somewhere under the surface. Layers of purple blues that have yellowed, faded, and inform green eyes that still sparkle.
There is a womyn here and a child. There is room and walls. There is unity and isolation. There is truth and the willingness to be touched again.
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