There are words I want to etch on my skin,
to remember forever,
to burn them into my mind
with color and blood
things I forget.

That is is lonely in a desert;
that is is lonely chez les hommes.
But the beauty of a desert
is that it can hide an oasis.

That tears drops
can turn to stars of fire.

There's also the horribly terrible idea
of immortalizing the words of Malvolio
at the crux of my hip
but it would sooooooo funny.