You tell me every day, how my arms are such lithe limbs that fall from my shoulders.
You say how I glide my hands up and down them to keep warm, how I use them alongside my hands to emphasise what I'm saying. How I wrap them around you when you require comfort; because in the end, you're always the one who can see right through me.
You tell me everyday how you could stare at the way I use the long limbs to reach out for distant objects, showing the grace of the movement.
Oh, how you know me.