No Manual

 A maze of meaningless scars.
 Two uneven hands.
 The missing parts, the queer dings:
 These are the ingredients of your body.

 A single picture from your biology textbook.
 A stash of old porn magazines.
 A single motion, a single word:
 These are the ingredients of your love.

 This cloak of thousand furs.
 The colors in your hair
 (always too long or too short).
 The way you carry that armor
 (not quite knight, not quite shieldmaiden)
 and the way you drop it
 (as if nothing could hurt you):
 This is your design.