She uses her body like art,
Making colours dance,
Creating texture with her lips
Paintbrushes made of finger tips
The details are tragic
She draws love songs and horror stories on layers of legs
Each story board,
A new character, a different shade
Those primary tones crawl out of secondary thoughts
She puts emotions onto blank spaces
Finding areas of her back she cannot reach
Tapping magic to it from her wrist
Areas of greys are covered,
Sealed
She stares at her complete
Mirror to image,
She’s a piece of work
Angling herself at positions unaware
She captures them languages she’s spoken onto her body