My Night with Connor

This is a darkly erotic piece about lust, ink, and blood.

 

After your show in that water

room when I could

see the trip in the dark

of your eyes you

lifted me onto a table and

undressed me there.

With the long nails

of your right hand you

began to mark me; first

with straight lines, then in

designs that bled down and

down so you scrubbed

at the stains before carrying

on. Back and front, down my

legs and arms you

carved me like wax or

stone and when no

space remained I stood

before you completed, your

final masterpiece.

As I lay me down on that soupy

bed you draped me in a paper

shroud and made pen

rubbing of the etches you had

left like when we were children

making prints off of

graves. When my tattered

body found itself home I

hung them on my bed

room walls so as to ever

remember those shapes.

Bruises fade, but ink is forever.