T.2 (tattoo)

You left blue
tattoo scabs
in my bed
after I gave you
head.

I prefer you,
yes,
but I’d settle for
a likeness instead.

It’s a deeper dread:
finding less of you
than what I thought
had shed.

I want all of you here again.

The gravel of your voice
in my ear again.

Come back to bed.

I’ll forget what’s never been said.

We’ll pretend
wounds
scabbed
but never bled.

“Dotted shading – like victorian printing” by Sarah-Rose via Flickr.com is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

About the author



Mike Guisinger lives in Brooklyn, NY, and is currently working on his first collection of poems, "Subterranean." His work has appeared nowhere and neither has he.



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