This Is Not A Tattoo

This is not a tattoo.
This is a simple ritual in simple times.

These are
my marks, my spots
my moments that pass by.

I claim them as my own.

We are
moving – now, yes
but, grown from nothing.

We are
clusters of nothing, beating hearts
hard skulls
nothing more than points in time.

I shelter in my skin
I shelter in these rituals
where everything is said and unsaid.

These bits of ink
bits of life
overwhelm me, they are
greater than anything I will ever come to learn.

I look down,
grains of sand.

I look up,
temporary stars in the sky.

Here for a milli-second,
we are specks.