Her skin

Traces of lines are contours
Detailing the rise and fall of shape
Of a body's bud, blossom and fruit.
A map of the present and the past,
Her skin has its own history,
From the defiant teenage rose
(She shows me the secret hearts of a lover, now faded)
To the birthdates of her children under the leaves of flowers.
All indelibly a part of her.
Though colours and memories lose their brightness
and intensity fades
She can reinvent herself,
Draw a new design 
to blossom anew.
Her skin is her living story
And there is so much more yet to tell.