in her flesh
a story sits
unfolding
scattered
by its own predicament.
how cautious can one be
too afraid to bare the weight of the ages
trickled down through time
she's been young a thousand lives
fear her not
as she begs renewal
fear her then
when her thoughts were fresh
incomprehensible
when she'd bend
or plead for the love
of another.
in the story wrought
from fact, truth, or fiction.
untangled and dismantled
she remembers it not
yet you see it written
in words by the dozen
or a fleeting glance
the story sits
in her flesh.
touch her only with love.