the virgin tattoo

the virgin tattoo
by DIY Danna
His leaving that night with the party girl
was the first sting of a needle
that touched my left thigh,
while the DJ’s damn record kept spinning.
The party girl was a pretty and lovable shell,
completely confident in her abilities
to make a temporary impression
on his left breast.
I’m reading Oates again at breakfast,
spinning the bowl clockwise.
The book opens to ignorant bliss –
and a girl with regrettable tattoos she covered up,
the past.
The day ends with an orange burst tattoo
etched on the milky blue sky,
and the prayer flags wave goodbye to him.
That night I dreamed of my first tattoo –
a nubile bride, boldly exposed
in a whipped cream wedding dress.
I don’t know why a stranger
is licking the dress from bodice to toe,
but for a moment, there is no inhibition.
The permanent symbol of love
is worn without pride.

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