blue on my skin

i touch the pen
to my forearm
and a flower blooms

so blue against
my tan skin
like the dark indigo
of the pristine ocean

next is a word
scrawled handwriting
traced on my ankle
beautiful, meaningless
and empty

she asks me
why do you draw
on your arms
and write such
strange words

and i don't
tell her
that it's better
for the blue
to be on my skin
for the world to see

than inside
some deep emotion
hidden in my heart