Resting on your skin,
Mellowed, burnished and glossy
Crafted in fainted blue,
A tattoo in Spanish Mariana Mario.
Weary eyes and doleful gaze,
A trace of a smile on those slender lips.
Pulling me on,
You said, “Let’s not pass.
Moments like this come not often.”
With my fingers, I caressed that tattoo,
Below the collar bone
Above your left breast
“Is this your name?” I wondered.
“No,” your feeble reply.
“My daughter’s.
Today, she is two-year-old.
Lives with my mother in a distant land,
On the north coast of South America.
I miss her.”
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