look at the hands 
at the lines 
possessed just by you
they are not the ones 
who determine 
whether you are destined 
to win or lose
you write your life 
with your blood and sweat

touch the eyes 
the fine lashes 
feel like soft brushes
underneath your fingertips
the mirror says your eyes are 
the blue of the sky
the green of the sea
the brown of the honey
the black of the moon night

touch the lips 
soft except for a few cracks
the feminine pink smile
to crack open a heart
the teethy laugh
to make another laugh

touch the hair 
the black with all the shine
bouncing like the waves in an ocean
strands , the finest woven threads
passing easily between your fingers

the hands and legs 
the beautiful face 
all that grace
makes 
a woman
a queen 
a goddess 
nonetheless