There are days were black-polished nails clutch on tightly to white porcelain,
and golden rings fall off tanned fingers,
and words swarm on top of throats
and hold hands to dance
and stomp feet to feel
and echoes swim in salty water
to cling to veins
just above the eyes
but just below the eyebrows.
They say eyes mirror the beauty within.
I look for it in veins.