Sonnet #3

Your fingers press gently against my skin
and brush away the bold color that bleeds
from the scar that you are etching within
my body forever; from the needle
into my skin rushes the viscous ink.
First touch I’ve given my canvas to you;
my skin meets the needle in perfect sync
with the river of black ink pulsing through
the dermis. The figure slowly takes shape
under the artful needle’s steady hum.
With each stroke on this physical landscape
now a further canvas my skin becomes.
A masterpiece, once merely a figment,
becomes eternal in liquid pigment.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: