I have no tattoos. I apologize
for my lack of ink, for my being so unhip,
or merely old. But I was startled
by that lily on your belly—
I admit my only thought was Is she French?
before I was otherwise consumed
and only thinking with my tongue.
What bothers me
(and I know it should not) is how
you are no longer quite so perfect a surface
on which I am free to paint
the aqueous wash of my love.