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Part of the Series: The Tender Margin

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Ink on the Thigh

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  • Ink on the Thigh

 Your fingertips trace lines I can feel,

  even before they touch,

   a language of whispers,

 dark as the quiet hours

   between night and first light.

 

  Each stroke is deliberate,

   a map of longing

 that I follow

   without question.

 

   When your hand reaches

  the place where breath breaks,

 I am already unfolded,

   the ink of you

 staining me

   in ways the world will never see.

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