The Metaphor of a Body

My eyes are shining droplets of liquid umber, staining the blank canvas a rich dark brown.

My hair is a wave of uncertainty, lying flat when heated troubles brew and frizzing angrily at turmoil.

My lips are loud, golden bells incessantly ringing to alert townspeople of vital news.

My hands are diamond arches, poised to beautify, hypnotize, and slice through rigidity.

My will is a sharp knife that, while pervious to rust and decay, can still be restored to its former wicked glimmer.

My torso is a struggling dolphin, writhing in pain, discomfort, and ecstasy.

My skin is a prickle of needles, poking tenderly at the balmy, sticky, stifling heat of the summer.

My nose is a slope of possibilities, determined to follow its own path in order to escape the Hotel California.

My feet are trampled tomatoes, sensitive to vandalism and the insensitivity of no-good kids.

My neck is a bursting bubble, snapping, cracking and popping in a staccato rhythm with alternate beats.