I Want To Read The Stories On Your Skin

Please, come closer.
Let me feel the ridges, the lines.

I want to touch each raised mark.
I want to close my eyes and press my palm
into the softness of your skin.

I want to discover how the ink moves, swirls,
twists into shapes, into the outside of a letter,
into a pattern, or into a portrait of someone you’ve lost.

I want to feel how these loops
become the signature of your loved one.

I want to feel how these intersections
become your words, your handwriting.

I want to trace each part of you
underneath my fingertips until I know,
until I understand.

I want to feel what’s been pressed
into your body—the perfection,
the permanence.

I want to know you by the ink etched
into your arms, your back, your side.

Every line tells a story—the places
you’ve been, the world
you’ve experienced outside of me.

And I want to read each story,
know every piece of you.
Know why.

We all have our secrets,
our lessons, our blessings.

We all have parts of ourselves
too powerful to hide
in the folds of our brains.

So we soak them into our skin.
So we write them to life on our bodies.

Continual reminders of who we are,
where we come from, the beautiful things
we are defined by.

So please, share this with me.

Come closer.
Let me feel the ridges, the lines.

I want to discover you.

Your pieces, your past.

I promise I will touch each line tenderly,
kiss with patience, with love.

I promise I will read these stories forever,
these stories on your skin.