A man without any tattoos admires a beautiful woman whose body is covered with them.
The exhaustive coverage of clustered tattoos
over your pale white skin
shows starkly against its surviving slivers, seams and patches.
Your bravery at submitting, commonly supine and blind
to the exposed work surfaces of your limp body,
to hovered-over stinging sessions administered
over long intervals towards the eventual ink-takeover
of the vessel inside which your identity is locked,
dominating the character of your nakedness in every pose,
inspires me and my blank hide with cowardly awe.