The ink upon her body is only ever seen
By those who bruise humanity to walk the in between
The bodies that have entered will open every door
And drag along duplicity to make of love a *****
And she is the arena, the skin upon her bones
A spectacle of mastery immersed in many tones
Distractions made it easy to take away her key
And generate a simple croon that minimized her plea
Her bed became a lover in whom she sought to rest
A journey made beneath the sheets to consciously forget
That there is still a temple, a place they cannot touch
The candle lit oblivion where pain is just a crutch