On the side of his ribs: ‘The way to the heart is a path full of thorns’
Why?
I pour some oil on him, then set the jar down.
After a long inhale, I touch him.
Warmth blossoms in my chest.
Slowly, I spread the oil with my palms.
I was wrong. His skin is soft. Every other thing is hard and strong.
“Is that all you’ve got?” He teases.
Squeezing my mouth, I apply pressure with my fists.
Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’
Why would that be the best place to be?
“Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process.
“They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…”
“Were you sad in the past?”
He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips.
Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’
“You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I
