I was new in town, so there was a certain logic to
To learn the map ofher skin.
The silence that filled the space between us after
we un-joined made her uneasy.
She would hide behind a plume of smoke or
"I was sixteen the first time I tasted blood. I got
some ink to celebrate." She told me many times, but only if she thought I
wasn't paying attention.
She repeated it so many times it was easy for her
to remember, which was good because it wasn't true. She did have the tattoos
though, there was a story in there somewhere.
When she was excited her skin
would quiver, causing them to dance. When she was sad they'd turn blue, washed
away by tears in a process I caused but wasn't allowed to see.
imagine though. Even now they move with the motion of something in a dream.
Sheets stained a spent blue. Lone witness to a solo dancer. Evidence.