Inkless
You were the last person in the world without tattoos
And god, dear god, how much that endeared her forever to you
Would run her finger down your sleeve-free arm
Could count the tiny blemishes indicating some past harms
Loved seeing the tiny hairs on your body, one mammal to another
Colored so naturally, clinging to you, clear cover
Your skin without pictures without art without statement without gesture\ without meaning without finery without intent without without with only you and she tracing your skin from your knee to your thigh, back and forth, slowly.