There are so many parts of you 

the way you walk through a busy store

more of a sway than a shove,  head tilted to one side 


your hair,  waves of color that the wind catches, or  

tied up in a ponytail, balled up in a cap 


your skin, the color of expensive dishes

except your face,  a shade of rose, unless you are out of breath 


there are so many parts of you

I could tell you about 

if you knew I was alive 


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