Tattoos..

  Tattoos

The pretty lady had  many tattoos on her skin and she allowed few to see them. I told her. I own four tattoos and each one with a story. I believe if we mark our bodies with ink. Each one, should tell us a story of adventure. She laughed and she told me.

You love the darkness, poetry and the jazz songs. You love us women. You see us with eyes of wonder and you want to hear our voices. You make me feel I am special. I allowed you to write words on bare skin. You can make me smile.

She put her bare legs across my lap and I caressed her rose bush tattoo, tenderly and I told her. I love your dream catcher on your back and the vision of the hands of peace on your left arm. I have traced the rose bunch to hidden places and I adored your song and stories for each one. You are my wildflower and my barefoot dream who cannot be captured or tamed. I remember I saw you nude on a warm Summer night with the moon above. You were bare and free and I remember the scent of your skin. I smelled a thousand wild flowers of many colors. You tattoos my mind and my heart forever with your kind and beautiful face.

She laughed and she rose up. Please Johnnie, dance with me near the Pacific. Please twirl me into the wonder of the dance and happiness. Make me believe, your words are true. I know you poets adore “Love” and pretty gals. Am I your forever love or just a Summer dance to make you smile in old age?

I went to her and we danced for the stars and the moon. I twirled her gently, watched her free auburn hair and dancing bare feet move with the Summer wind. I told her. You are forever tattoos on my mind and my heart. You make me believe, we can be free, we can be wild and we control our world. We decide our journey. You and I had showed real face, said honest words. And you stayed with me. You make me smile too my wild Irish rose and I thankful for you my dear love.

Coyote