My introduction lies in calming blues and not-as-pearly whites,
A placid start that speaks of safety,
Of the deep ocean memories from when our ancestors were fish,
Warm in the cold,
These eyes the hook to draw them out of you,
The hook to keep you interested past
These whites, which should remind you
Of the dream we dream our ancestors have gone to,
Of the joy in meeting the big fish of their day,
But that the gates have slightly yellowed in their age.

How soon the introduction ends now and
My body is the body that you read,
A fiction built from hourglass ageless sand,
Perfect, but for time removing beads.
These strongarm muscles still retain their shape,
These calves still speak of lift with legs not back,
And yet those beads through time escape,
They shift beneath and leave a sack.
And while these sands of youth leave,
The weighty rocks come fill their place in measured time
And make up for that loss with leaden legions of their own,
Forgetting what had come before.
They could be ground down, back to sand again,
But clothes can hide the time it takes till then.

My conclusion is not truly mine.
I give you my ocean,
I give you my gates,
I give you my story in time,
And I give you my hand,
A look,
My voice.
My story ends where you choose.

Until you read me through again,
And this time pick page 22.