Skin: There are miles to me.
Eyes: A deep onyx.
Tresses of Indian ink hair locks hang free
on my petite frame.
Is this beauty?
The transient and evolving features that define me?
Can you see past the flesh that envelopes me:
Hear the lofty and intricate thoughts of my mind,
The exorbitant way I love things?
The warmth of love I feel
for you and me?
Does the flesh win this waging war of time and space
or can you see me?