the zig-zag of stretch marks that run across her hip
self consiously she is forever pulling at the edges of her tops
trying to stop them being seen
alone,she stares at their silvery sheen
marvels at how her body tells her story
how delicately its read out.
not only in their own faint glimmering,
but in the slash across her wrist
fading with time.you'd have to be searching to find it.
in the lines of worry upon her forehead,
that she should still be too young to have