being tattooed for the sixth time
by the same artist
and as a grouping of seven
to nine needles drives ink
into my skin again and again
my tattoo artist and i
talk about how
pain forces you to become
aware that you are present
in your body

i am not just a meat puppet
piloted from afar
i am the gray matter inside my skull
the blood in my veins
the scars on my arms
my body fits together so well

my fingers slot together
like they were meant to be
crooked on one side from
a heavy old car door
where you cried more than i did
because hurting other people
is such a terrible feeling

i still think our fingers
fit together better
mine clammy from fear
and yours warm because of
the fear you were shedding
with every step we took together

and all my parts
attached as they should be
like my hand on your face
yours in my hair
back to back on a mattress
better fit to one
but i never felt as warm as
i did with your body
pressed against mine

and my heart skipped beats
like your lips pulled me back
into my body
from where ever i had been

my breath and yours
mixing like they were always
meant to ya know

if i could somehow
climb inside the shield
that our love creates around us
everything interlocked
like it’s meant to be
then i would be
even more okay

and i am trying to
find a way to tell you
all this without my voice shaking
though that may take some time

which is all we have left
between us now