she has a tattoo

the next boy who sees her naked
will see that ink on her skin
and might wonder about the story behind it

but i wonder if he’ll ask about the poems
i whispered into her neck, where i used my teeth
as a substitute for braille

i wonder if he’ll recognize the lullabies i wrote on her back,
one slow lazy letter at a time to put her to sleep
in the cradle of my arms

i wonder if he’ll realize that the road signs
with which she directs him around her body
were carved by me — my mark on her history

i was the first cartographer of her skin
redefining the borders of her preferences
fine-turning the limits of her begging
exploring until i had finished more than a thousand revisions of her topography

i wonder if she remembers any of that after all