Blue-grey-eyed and fair haired, with light brown ash and dirty blonde that streaks in summer from swimming and sun. Olive undertones with an occasional peach flush; cheeks that turn ruddy after running around outside–skin now pales in comparison but wears coral best.
Now that it’s spring, I want to take you outside to play where I never used to think about falling when I’d ride my bike, or wear the wrong shoes. Scabs and scars from high swings, roller skates, and banging an eyebrow into a table corner. Blood and bleach. The birthmark that moves across the continent of my right thigh tracing my quad, down and around part of my buttocks, beginning at my belly button, the source of life. Maps of childhood. Linea negra, the dark line that travels to the pubis. A swollen, childless belly. Botticelli’s Venus.
Delicate wrists and ankles. Long fingers. Elegant neck. Freckles. Full lips. High-arched feet with slender toes. Strong shoulders. Small breasts with perfect nipples. Faded tattoos. Hips. This body is home.