Ink.

Ink
by james bezerra

The ink just beneath your skin
has a constant effect;
it make me grin.
But not a smile upon my face.
No, this grin begins in a much different place.
It begins, this grin, like a hunger,
only … no, it is so much stronger.
It’s a famine in my chest;
a hungry creature that simply won’t rest
until it tastes and devours and sucks from you
the sweet dark ink of that tattoo.

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