the almond blossom tattoo

today

for the first time

you have shown me your new 

tattoo

the one of the branch of almond blossom

the one on your lower abdomen

the showing of which

requires the removal of 

clothing

using only your left hand

you slip

your cotton t-shirt

over your head

in one deft movement

and as you do so

lift your right hand

to cover your left nipple

the forearm crossing the body

thus to simultaneously conceal

both the naked breasts

you have done this before

and perform the act without thinking

small wrinkles appear 

in the puckering skin

pointing

towards the concealed 

nipple

your left breast

is slightly distorted

by the pulling action

my mind

is slightly distorted

by the distraction

the almond blossom tattoo

of which you are rightly proud

snakes from a point

within the inner sanctum of your groin

to the left hand-side

around your hip

and up your back

to end in sprays

just below your

armpit

and upon your shoulder blade

pure blossom and

dark piercing twigs

fingers of grief

reaching across the 

fatal field of your flesh

inked lines

in low relief

deeply 

permanently defined

and while you show me

you continue to hold your fingertips

over the warm 

rose of  your nipple

in order to maintain

your modesty

I hear from you 

of a journey of longing

you tell me of

sleepless nights

your own hands

stroking your intimate skin

wondering

deciding

worrying

fingertips

tracing designs

in imagined Japanese lines

you take me with you

to a place

of desperate defiance

between you

and your troubled parents

I echo

your trepidation

on the tattooist’s couch

and I too

fear the buzzing pain

you have suffered

to carry this image

as she drives her needles into you

relief

as she finishes her flourish

elation

at first sight

you consume me

in the intimacy

and the ecstasy

of your endeavour

but rest assured 

I cannot see 

your nipple