Tracing the tattoo on her back with my finger. The leaf as organism, the orgasm of a tree or a bush, if it landed squarely on the small of her back where the tattoo appeared – who knows what a summer breeze sunbathing in the suburban EAST may yield. Her hair a shadow exploded, the fallout extending to every kinked end. She sits down, touching her legs – she is touching her own leg as it is slung over the other as she laughs over a future plan and her lower leg rises and the skin in motion reflects amber light off its own dark gold base. Passing mention that she exits the room to change clothes conjures shocking images: her skin in a dimly lit room uncovered, indelicacies that can on her person ravaged be. In her absence the rest dither in lilliputian details and my appetite increases exponentially every moment. The wait for her return is madness purple black madness ink tearing my mouth open to drown me course through me as I wait for her to reappear in casual clothing that covers the tattoo her dress had revealed.