mostly faces

with their hands to eyes set at ninety degree angles,

politely declining the warpath of a summer day

for those that look directly into the sun scare me.

skin 

the waxy underbelly of a grasshopper,

smooth and electric and difficult to touch.

a prick may cause deflation.

lips 

that break one long breath in two,

the staid stutter of a newborn baby,

a lurid slip of the tongue.

noses 

that snort tea and biscuits

and the airy elasticity of noise

that settles on old shoulders like dandruff.

tongues 

perpetually hungry,

the kind that eat its own words

and spit chatter

into sentimental sandwiches and undercooked cakes.

hands 

discovering their fingertips

for the first time,

but practice bending every chance they get.

hips 

gyrating like a rusting iron bar,

loose at the hinges

if it were not for their sinews.

and minds 

that eat other minds for breakfast.