Henna Tattoo

I sketched intricate calligraphy
carved unadulterated beauty
into her consciousness

Lust was palpable
My mark nothing more than fleeting imitation

it dried,
and through each passing day
its colour grew weaker
its trace more feeble
wilting as quickly as it blossomed
shone momentarily as fast as a shooting star
until it was a shadow of its past glory.

to be remembered as nothing more than a bittersweet memory

Until our mind martyrs lovers into
nostalgic day dreams, broadcast
onto the forefront of our every spare thought
assisted by hyperbolic embellishment

Until the lines of fantasy and reality blur,
With no tattoo left to remind us.