Ink

Stop at the hundredth hour
of continuous tattooing
or your body may reject the ink;
let the artist take a break,
rest his wrist, sip some lukewarm tea.
If the pain becomes unbearable,
bite down on a broom handle;
a pencil is too small - it will fill
your mouth with splinters
and shards of graphite.

He is working from a print,
tracing a late Escher staircase
across the rolling, unclaimed meat
of your back.
Now, when we lie in spoons,
I will not get bored.
I will not wake you up
to talk about weddings
and ways to forget that people die.