Of your tounge, and the words you speak
Of your hair, and the light that glints off it
Of your eyes, and the sun warmed memories of the sea
Of your chin, and the knife that cannot cut as sharp
Of your neck, and the swan that has snapped its own
Of your laugh, and its hue, dusty and callous
Of your hands, and the work they've yet to do
Of your heart, and the love it has yet to give