Inkful
I want to tattoo my face right over my face.
And I want black ink running down my arms in thick rivulets.
I want to tattoo nipples on my kneecaps so that crawling becomes a methaphor for sexual stimulus.
I want to tattoo a trademark for the word methaphor onto my wrist and leave\ it up to the world to define the word for I only want to own it.
I want to tattoo “This is not the end” right above my tush crack.
I want to tattoo your lips over my lips and I think you know why.
And I want to tattoo your breath on the inside of my ear.
I want to tattoo talons on my toes to remind me to latch on tightly to small prey
And I want to tattoo wings on my triceps to help me always fly away.
I want to tattoo the evolution of mankind from my ankle to my groin and right on my inner thigh, so close to the naughty bits, that’s where I want tattooed The Modern Man in a 3-piece suit and tie.
I want to tattoo a pen upon my finger and a notebook on the opposite palm and a bookmark on my thumb and desire on my heart and hope across my soul and Geronimo! in a spiral that descends into my mind.
And will you get a tattoo, too?
Something quite small, inconspicuous?
Perhaps the word “here” in red ink, sans serif, atop the crown of your skull?