I am grey-green eyes looking
straight into you,
softness and fire.
I am an off-center smile scrunching one cheek
in amusement or embarrassment;
lips that hold cutting
sarcasm or a goodbye kiss.
I am grown in Magnolias,
matured in the Lone Star;
the paradox of sunset, constant
I am pearls bouncing on the collarbone
going secret speeds
on a crotch rocket,
Michael Bublé in all black and chains.
I am the iris looking at life
through an 18-55 mm lens,
memories like pictures capturing
moments, smiles, emotions.
I am sweet potato casserole, thick black coffee,
clinking iced tea and the middle
biscuit won by a quick hand.
I am a picture of who
I’ll become, a thousand words morphing
into countless pages.
I am all this and none,
more than this ink on blank white,
scrawled down out of half duty
and half inspiration.
I am a question mark in the middle
of the sentence.