Written on a deli napkin, when I found myself dining alone, and the pocket Rumi had been left at home. I resorted to cleaning out my bag, where I found a business card from the tattoo artist who'd done my niece Reya's last tattoo. Reya wanted me to see a tat being done, hoping it would help me see that it really didn't hurt to have one. It still looked like it hurt to me, but I think I understand better now why people return time and time again to get their bodies illustrated.
Green Ink
You let the iron
tiger nibble on
your pale leg
tender lamb
to him
though inside
you're screaming
for his needle teeth
to stop! cease! desist!
because it tickles
so.
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