Thursday, December 10, 2009
Nice tattoo. Of a bird. On your breast. It's a delicate species you've picked out. What is it? A sparrow, a starling, a kingfisher, a tree swift? It's life-size, right? And it's in mid-flight, which is hopeful. It looks happy, ecstatic, in the midst of a paroxysm. For a while, we thought the nonthreatening-animal tattoo was dying out, that the dolphin on the ankle would be the extent of it. Or the butterfly on the wrist. Then came the birds on the belly. They're landing on a remarkable place now. The cleavage. That sacred parcel. Anywhere else on the body, a tattoo is an adornment, but on the breasts, it's a badge. What it stands for, we have no idea. Why it's there, we can't begin to guess. How you think that area could possibly be improved is a total mystery. But it's one hell of a tattoo. Woodpecker?
Labels: Chest Tattoos
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