Poetry

v. dentata

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Shelley had a Chinese dragon tattooed on her leg.
It took weeks to get it done.
By the end the tattoo guy knew her ass better than I did.

The dragon was almost half her size.
Its tail wound tight around her ankle;
red and green rear legs hugged her calf,
and both front legs gripped her upper thigh.
It moved like a horny dog against her shin
when she stretched.

               I didn’t like the look
in its eyes, the way it peered back over its shoulder,
eyes half closed and mouth agape above her shaved pubes.
She was pierced there, too. Non-functional, she called it.

I don’t know why.
               It worked fine for me.
A gold tooth in the dragon’s wide white mouth.

"That thing better not bite me." I said.

I thought I was joking until one time when the ring broke
and it did.