Tangled Branches

By Vash Kranfeld

By Vash Kranfeld

When you left,

your skin was pure,

broken only by

that constellation

of freckles nestled

on your chest.

I remember marveling

at your naked skin,

its bronze luminescence,

its perfect unpredictability.

When my fingers were

able to once again

feel your warmth,

they couldn’t help

but trace the ink,

the pictures,



into your body.

The pyramid

and the palm trees

and the All-Seeing Eye

surveying the world

from your shoulder.

I was mystified,

and could not stop

touching the pictures

on your skin.

You said you wanted more–

the word Outlaw–

a mirror of who

you thought you were.

I see pictures of

your body,

your chest

covered in dark pictures,

a tree climbing up your


dripping with

tangled branches

and tiny, screaming skulls.

I want to touch your


in the dark,

trace their outline

with my fingers,

remember their images,

burn them into my memory.

I wonder how you,

how I,

how anyone,

can live with such permanence

on our bodies

when we throw away people

so frequently.

I want to be as permanent

as those pictures,

I want your fingers to trace

me into your memory

and carry me into your present,

into your permanence.


Written in response to the Daily Prompt–Permanent


5 thoughts on “Tangled Branches

  1. Pingback: Ink and Skin | Lead us from the Unreal to the Real

  2. Pingback: Daily Prompt: Tattoo….. You? | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss

  3. Pingback: Tattoo… | Life as a country bumpkin...not a city girl

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