she writes with a permanent pen
chapters of a life-story on her
arm and when she runs
outofspace she
writes along the curve of her long
body and around the ankles
where the neat lettering swirls into a condensed
circle and protrudes when she traces the ink over
the bone;
she takes care to cover her fingers in sharp
pen marks in a soft pattern with the words
notre amour, c'est éternel
but forgets that it is all just a (life)story played out
in her mind while she finishes this pen and reaches for
the next with childlike fingers;