Inked

Bows and arrows rise

in blue-painted memory,

whisper secrets in a language

that no longer exists.

I am compelled to tattoo

Pictish letters on my skin,

preserve the modern heir

of a distant arsenal.

Midnight ink voices

another century,

another continent;

marks my rite of passage.

It tells the story of us:

connections and parallels

in endless equinox―

a barcode to identify me as yours.

tk/March 2014




R.A.D. Stainforth considers a tattoo... 

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