My Confession Poem by Shkotz Shpatzir

She handed me the sharpie marker and told me to write my story in cursive on her naked skin. I acquiesced and began the tale from the beginning, each word heavy with the weight of memory scrawled across her flesh. She read as I wrote, her calm as settled as her breathing. I, on the other hand, scribbled in a frenzy. Losing focus of her body, my context skewed, my mind elsewhere; she had opened the door to my soul. The more I wrote the further she disrobed till she was bare for me to see; I welcomed her nudity, it made me feel less exposed. The ink barely dry, I signed my name for all to see; my confession was complete.