Pale blue lines map stories up and down her forearms,
traverse her thighs.
She is gently take care of what’s left,
assembling a justification,
while recalling warm breezes blowing
through the long hairs across her shins and calves.
Like the dark tangles under her arms,
these shadows were not suitable to be seen.
Thick grey veins drawn under thin skin bulge from her hands
like old explanations.
They’ve always been evident but were never part of the plan.
These are not such delicate tales.