Her movements
Are so fluid
There is no reason
To alter the specifics
To make them more appealing
When transferring them to words.

No need for analogies
Or symbolism.

She dips her head back
And lets it slip from
One shoulder
To the other.
Resting on each one
Ever so slightly
To greet them both
The same.

Her hand
Puppeteers her arm upward
To swipe her fingers
Across her brow.
A gentle kiss of reassurance
That morning has at last
Arrived.

Her thumbs lead the way
For her hands to follow
As they slip behind her ears
And make their way down to the ends
Of her hair.
But before they finish their descent,
They meet together
Her smooth hair stops them from making
Total impact.
The right stays put, creating ******* for the hair that is left behind.
The left guides the remaining strands around her shoulder
To rest there
As her hand continues down her chest.
Something that she only allows her own kind
To do.

Her actions alone are pure poetry.
From turning her head,
To stretching her arms,
To simply putting up her hair.
It is all poetic
To witness
To experience
To love.