‘It’s my skin,’ she said,

But he still shook his head.

Did she not understand

The risk entailed? Once the

Fine pale surface was broken,

There was no going back.

The permanency of a foreign body

Worming its way beneath

Her flesh - this he could not 

Permit. For her own good.

 

Though he paid no heed

To the multicoloured rings

And patterns that each faded

From their blacks to purples

And yellows: the colours of queens,

Left on her skin. Day in,

Day out. His temporary

Exertions, her permanent

Memory. To him,

For her own good.