Kissing The Tattoo

It is a manta ray,
I think; something
like one at any rate.
Done in blackwork
on the shoulder,
lines along the bones,
the outline clean
and sharp.

I find myself
wanting to kiss it —
or rather, thinking
of myself wanting
to kiss it back in the days
when I did things like that;
as if it is behind
a clear window, just
out of reach. As if
there is an entire ocean
between us.

Knowing there is no chance
of that happening,
I put my head down
to weep, but
I can’t cry — not
a drop, not a salty
tear at all; that manta
has sailed, its wings
lazy in the sea;
me left on land
to shake it off
and move on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T