Generic consent waiver at a tattoo shop

Eyes closed
head lolling to the side
fingers bloody from caressing each
thorn-covered loop on the noose
made from the vines

the vines trapping my feet.

I hear the whirr behind me.
hold my breath.
brace for the sting.

“You know,”
I say,
“I saw this design on
other flesh,
once”

You don’t reply as you
move my hair
off of my shoulder

And I exhale
as a little line of
green-stained blood
rolls along the delicate
line of my clavicle
like a roller-coaster
for the abandoned

I turn the noose over in my hands
So you can see the patterns on the leaves
So you can see the patterns in the thorns

While tears,
like priceless wine
mix with the ink

And we both pretend to not notice.