I started to watch a movie several years ago called “the Pillow Book.” In the movie, a Japanese woman has a bit of a calligraphy fetish, and wants her lovers to write on her body. Eventually, she meets the character played by Ewan McGregor and thinks he’s great in bed, but has terrible handwriting. He suggests that she teach him to write better. She tosses him out, but eventually becomes his lover again. I could never get through it, it was very slow moving and more than a little convoluted, but I did watch enough to learn that Ewan McGregor is packing some serious genital heat (which would be an awesome band name)
I’m sure you can Google around and find pictures of him. Or, let me Google that for you.
Anyway. Ewan McGregor’s dick is not really what I wanted to write about, even though it is admirable. For a dick. It was the idea of writing on someone’s body that made me think of the movie, and then I was distracted by the dick. It happens to the best of us at times. Dick is like that.
Tattoos are the writing on my body.
Songs, lovers, books feel like they’re engraved on my heart somehow.
I feel like a lot of things are written on my heart/mind, but they can’t literally be.
I’d love to be able to write
The things engraved on my heart
on someone’s body
With a zen brush
Or indelible ink
Depending on the thought
and the lover
and what I had to say.
Permanent like a tattoo,
or fading away
as soon as the ink is dry.
It would be nice if some of the more painful stuff written on our hearts would fade as quickly and cleanly as zen brush calligraphy.