I ink tattoos of white
On your snowy skin.
Passing by, no one notices
But you and I
We know my artwork fills the canvas
That runs through alleyways
And under ladders
It spirals up and down your arms
It’s painted underneath your eyes
That open and shoot beams of color
Through the air across to me.
I will not stop until my ink runs dry.
Poetry
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I like how you use ink as metaphor throughout. You keep it consistent and it creates beautiful imagery. This is some college-level writing. Amazing.