PERFECTLY PEAR

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I have short stubby toes at the ends of my broad flat feet.
I have thick ankles, solid calves and full thighs.
There is nothing dainty about these parts of me.
They are heavy and bind me to the ground.
I have the blood of farm women in me, I have their shape and their walk.
I have their mama earth’s secrets tucked away in my wide knees.

And then there is my arse.
Round and full like the moon, with hips built to make it move.
Hips that shake, that flick, that grind.
Hips that unlock ancient rhythms to make my whole body unwind.
To make my curved belly twirl.
Belly filled with a thousand ideas.
Soft, warm and inviting womb of mine.

Mine, all mine, my deep red nipples, my pale smooth breasts.
My small sandcastles atop my chest.
Chest alive with breath makes the place where my shoulders rest.
Shoulders that are free.
Shoulders that know how to jump for joy and raise my slender arms into the sky.
My tender hands glide so gracefully,
giving thanks for my body,
so perfectly pear.