The Canvas Skin strikes again
With a breakdown of mental boundaries
My mind has never stretched so far
Or expanded to such an extent
That the former impossible
Is now within such short grasp
And the idea that was harboured within
Is now beautiful ink
Underneath skin.

About a week or so ago,
I fell in love with a man
when I went to sleep
in a boy's bed.

His chest
read "weird"
in black-block ink
his self acceptance
made me smile.

His eyes,
puppy dawg brown,
breathed in every edge
of my body
knowing exactly
where they
were going,
but never fully
meeting mine.

Up my hips
on our dance floor.

Down my tummy
on his bed.

His distant
self assurance
consumingly
relaxing.

His
freckled face
and dimpled smile
only implied
deep sincerity
matching
his overgrown
words.

In adolescence
I'd forced myself
to give up the idea
of being with a boy
whose fingers read "bad."

But
When he came
to me
his hands
over
my body
his silence
over
my mind.

He
enjoyed me

The whole night

The way I did him

He took in
my stories  
grabbed my shoulders
with shaking
enthusiasm
with reaction
to my action
with interest
in the questions
of my own life
I'd barely explored.

He took in
my toes
my ankles
my hips.

He acknowledged
the marks
on the skin
of my backside
i became
self conscious
and uncomfortable

But he noticed.

He tinkered
with the ring
of my belly button
grazed
the edges
of my breast.

He breathed
in my ears
He wanted
badly
for me
to feel good.

He didn't play games
in either his loving
or his company.

They were both
giving
gentle
and distantly
warm.

So much
sincerity
from a man
I accidentally
fell in love
with the briefness
of a boy.

She is a tapestry of ink, a creation
That is painted upon, beauty defined
Upon the flowing shades on skin.

Individuality,each creation apart
Of her being, hued in places, mellow
Majestic forms upon a canvass of skin.

She is the muse of her creations that
Show the beauty within.

Though not
from the generation
of tattoos,
I think
I would
love to kiss
all of yours.
  ~mce

They see all the good
    They're torn towards all the bad
             They know what's coming
   But they never look back
          To all they could have had
     They want their justice
              Yet, they leave it to the devil
        Dressed all in black
              With wilted roses
   Tattooed across their backs
           They've fallen,
    Deceived, tortured and abandoned
         Their holy calling
  There's a war raging between
            Their moral stance
       Their inner desires
                And their loyalty
         They never leave life to chance
  These Angels in black
          With wilted roses
       Tattooed across their backs,
Daggers, swords and knives
          Have red stained faces
     And hold the fate
             Of all our lives
       They can feel the shame
    Of this deadly game they play
          Yet, these Angels in black
With wilted roses
        Tattooed across their backs,
    Sacrifice everything for our souls
            Yet, a soul
   Is *all they truly lack

I Like music

I like my music like I like my ***, loud, hard, and angry.

I like to stab people with needles and call it art

I like to rip open my soul and call it poetry

I like boys with weird hair and piercings

I like people who aren't afraid to say what’s on their mind

I like people with broken souls and broken knuckles to match

You use ink for your skin. I use ink for my notebooks.
But it seems to me that we have a common interest.

© Matthew Harlovic

If there is a God,
my God
is a **** brunette.
Doe eyes,
stunning violet,
dark with eyeliner.

Star tattoos
twinkle on her face,
shooting across the skies

of her cheeks. A lower
lip piercing
accentuates

the **** curve
of her pouty lips.
Her lithe body,

also inked,
golden from the sun.
She smokes Camels,

sunlit smoke glowing
as it pours from her lips.
She’d ask me to join her

every time
she went outside
to have one,

grinning when she exhales.
I believe already.
My God.

I remember when you were all
Tattoos & cigarettes
For me-

Cherries and swallows inked on your skin
You knew how tattoos got me going
Especially on you.

How you used to light a Camel
With a devilish grin
And blow your smoke right at my face

Maybe a few smoky kisses,
**** in your scally cap
While you’d snap inhale

Huge white ***** of smoke
Popping out of your mouth,
Right back in,

God how I loved that,
And you knew how your smoking got me going-
Your smoking was always the sexiest.

In our little barn
You’d show off your new tattoos
Smiling like the sun.

I still dream about
The tattoos & cigarettes
We used to share

Ink
Worked in
Into skin
Patterns emerge
Secrets not for me
Obvious but hidden
Questions arise, why that design
What meaning does it hold for you
Flowers, skulls, lighthouses, birds and words
Intoxicating as they explain why
The reasons why they’ve changed themselves now
Into who they’ve become today
Remembrances and just because
It was pretty, it helped
Because life is hard
And this helps some
Remember
It goes
On.