A tattoo jutted from the hem of his shirt sleeve, stopping at the elbow. I couldn’t make it out from my position three seats away, but God, I wanted to. I wanted to know what he was thinking when he got it. How long it took to complete. If he had more. I wanted details on the barbel in his tongue. I wanted it to pass over my bottom lip again. I just wanted him. Time would never lessen the wanting.
