Despite her true American look
You can tell she has Welsh blood
Call them the curves of a woman, if you may.
Two pillowed cushions to dream upon, and
rounded hips of a Rubenesque Venus gives new
meaning to the phrase "hipster".
A bit of edge to her but mostly soft inside
Her tiny little hands, very much a childs
when held in another palm. Her left handed ways
have some hidden artistic talent
when she waves her fingers and their silver celtic bands

From her labyrinthine blue eyes that sometimes
flash a watercolor green when the mood strikes.
Her eyes give her every emotion away.

Her long red hair that varies by season sometimes
Enhanced by a dime store bottle of burgundy red.
The amber blond streak runs by her left cheek,
to the minor hint of the six grey hairs near the cowlick from hell.

The dimple you might catch a glimpse of when she smirks.
Oh does she roll her eyes under long dark lashes when
Something amuses or annoys her; Of course……
The Pout; have you seen the pout?
As she ages it doesn’t go away, but only makes
her look younger then the 37 years she really is.

Her tomboy ways are comfortable, walking
along a creek and skipping stones, walking the shore.
For all the bottles of wild nailpolish on her shelves
rarely used but for special occasions.
There are dresses of a lady in her closet
and suede and velvet skirts hiked up to there,
but it’s the jeans and green tie dye shirt
that make her so serene.

Her mind is quick and a bit evil
Her tongue sharp, her humor dry.
Her voice soft like a mourning dove
She’d love nothing better then
To spar a good game of wit, surpressing a giggle
And wander about your mind seeking it's honesty

She’s been brought up a lady
But a rebel none the less
She’ll smile and nod and with a turn
of her head and cracking a smirk
Wander off to what she does best.
Kind yet elusive as always
A mind of her own, they said……

08/04/2005

Author's Note: poetic self babble....

Posted on 08/04/2005
Copyright © 2024 Jennifer L Banks