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Tribal Tattoos

You know what, you’ve really helped me get over my last crush. I used to be so obsessed with a certain lispy someone. But all that changed when I saw you in debate class, and you foisted that shirt over your head. Let no one say you don’t have the strength and brutish physique of a vicious Celtic warrior–that tattoo may look more like your mother’s reaction to eating horseradish than an ancient ancestor’s burial-mask, but  the pure force of your inky utopia blinds me. When you bend to the side at a certain angle, I swear your back-tat takes the shape of the Holy Mother, and boy have I come to worship. You mumbled something about showing me your tribal spear, and assured me that protection was unnecessary–your tribe’s totem protects you from impregnating and transmitting diseases–like a spiritual love-glove. I dig it.