Someone's ink and needlesnhave written skin riddlesnon his body, bare before menexcept for these sketches.nnSignal and semaphorenfor things he won't talk about,nquiet and shut about nhis padlocks and latches.nMy fingers trace his pictures nand at each his breath catches.nnHe says, Why are you bare?nBare as the daynday you were borne from your mother?nnI say, So you can tattoo menwith the marks of a lover.nnThe red trails of his fingernails,nthe bumping palette of his bony hip,nthe sharp tooth benearth the softest lip,nthe kiss obscures the bite.nHe sketched his designs on me all through the night.nnHe finished and was sleeping, nso I jumped the early flight.nnNow 1000 miles away, nwith the passing of the days,nyour colors fall from my skinnlike the moon smoothes out the waves.nSo quietly they left nthat I didn't see them fade.nnI don't need ink and needlesnto write me my excuse,nthe body does tattoo itself nwith old age and abuse.nnWith lines pulled from the insidendrawn from pain and revery,nmy body will tattoo herselfnwith what you mean to me.