The first line is crucial and with a shaking hand, he pretends it’s permanent
--a tattoo among paper dolls that must be majestic, must be fit for a queen.
Careful now, for it mustn’t smudge, and it mustn’t crack
this is not ink nor stain
and this will not be a temporary funeral, just a temporary death
and the grandeur feeling of perpetuating desire.
He only knows what he wants, and it is to paint
So there are the lips now, precariously shaded red
With hair--oh her hair--so sporadic and displayed like a forest of electricity.
oh but this art is nothing but fragile
and for this moment, he is an artist of persona
and it's okay if he's broken after when the paint dries
and a hand must wash it away
Yes, for at this moment he can be permanent, a tattoo among paper dolls.
and he will not crack, and will not smudge
“Just remain in one piece,” he says.
“You would’ve made a beautiful girl.”