QUITTANCE FOR THE INK SLINGER

She carved a blue moon over my navel,

scattered dark stars across my ribs.

Working slowly into my skin,

she filled my silence with

words I have only heard in the mouths of lovers.

 

You take it so well.

I want it to be perfect for you.

It can be overwhelming; tell me if you need me to stop.

 

Lying by the cool window,

under the light touch of her hands,

the singe of a vanishing needle

did not even feel like pain.

 

Outside, afterwards, the sun was too much.

I went home and waited for night.

I wanted to climb a ladder of bones

to the moon,

sandpaper the craters of it

into shapes that would please her.