It got so bad yesterday that in a panic I asked my son to accompany me to the tattoo parlor.
We walked into this ink and needle joint, the ink surgeon sized me up allergic to his craft. He knew I was puzzled to be there.
I sat my lost soul into this couch made from an old pickup truck seat and waited anxiously crossing my legs a la Rockettes.
"Dad are you sure about this?" my younger son whispered under his breath. I raised my burnt wood eyes and stared at his, he knew I was hell bent.
I was in a trance, reciting her name over and over made me a stray jacket candidate.
I made peace with the wait by taking the venue into my veins. I was mesmerized by the regulars that live addicted to this, for them this was glorious.
I was taking it in while my tongue and lips lost all language but her name.
Completely surrendered to carving her name on my flesh, I was dying to dye her letters into me.
He motioned for me to sit in the chair and in a calming voice said "what can I do for you?"
I looked up at him with wild eyes and said "I've been enchanted by her, I need you to paint her into my canvas."
"Where would you like to display her?" he asked.
I unbuttoned my shirt and stretched out my left arm and said "here take my forearm."
Somewhat perplexed he dismissed my eyes and looked at my son for a sign of sanity.
Sensing the tension in the air I broke the silence by extending my right arm and saying "here take this forearm!"
Taking a few deep breaths somewhat peeved he began to recite this sermon over me.
"She is already under your skin, she has kissed her way through your pores."
"Your flesh is not a blank canvas anymore"...