Her Divine Tattoos

I see a beautiful woman
With such quick, nimble fingers
Lying up there on her side
My sight can’t help linger
On her tattooed right hand
Strumming her instrument
Long, wooden, with sixteen strings
And such a range of accents
One would think she’s an angel
If not for her wicked smile
And that twinkle in her eye
That brings war to plains and isle
She’s lying there in the air
Up above the world so high
My natural nemesis
Playing her music of lies
I see the divine in her
It’s there even in demons
She cannot get rid of it
Those chains tattooed on her skin

(I took a break from drawing, and then Crow showed up. I wanted to see where our collaboration would go, so the last three poems were an exploration of sorts. Each of the ladies requires a different approach. The Lady of the Robe is a difficult one to incorporate into a fusion poem with all the others, but I’m going to try, sometime later. I imagine that it would read like three separate poems written on a single theme. That might not work so well. I’ll try it once anyway. I still prefer the Depths. )

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