I like my hairy legs, They make me feel like a sunbleached cowboy. They make me feel like a long, lean man with elegant lines and a strong forehead. I like it when they’re blonde And they just glisten on my skin. Like a faux-protection or a cloak, A delicate barrier between myself And the world.
Or really I guess I just like the way it looks: Textured But smooth.
It looks wild but soft.
A landscape.
I think the hair compliments The shape of me very well.
I’m always amazed how the hair grows everywhere, Even on the back of my knees There is hair
And I like my boyish pretty toes.
I guess I like the sort of genderless aspect to my legs.
From far away they shout I AM A WOMAN!
But from near they could be anyone’s: hairy with little scars here and there, hairy toes with some dead skin in the toe nail creases. A sort of chunky pink toe there on the end.
A bit of dry callous on my heels. A strong, curved calf muscle. The hollows at my ankles, the delicate depression behind my ankle bones just before the rigid wrinkles of my Achilles tendon.
I like the bulging veins in the arch of my foot when I point my toes How they press their purple faces against my see-thru skin Squeezed by the muscles that bump against one another beneath the hard arched bones above I like the little bubbles of fat that pad my heels, turning bright yellow when I stand on them Never-smooth legs that even when freshly shaved still prickle Like a cactus “Don’t get too comfortable here” they say These beautiful legs aren’t for rubbing and lounging though my calves love to be pressured