She sounds like Sidse Knudsen
telling Chiara D'Anna she's late.
She tells me to climb on the couch,
compliments me on my boots,
wears a magnifying lens to better see
the Orion's Belt of follicles
still clinging to my lip.
Admires my work with the razor.
If she sees my tattoo, it's not mentioned.
I close my eyes.
I hear her breathe.
She puts the wand against my skin.
The warm pain comes in waves.
(Btw, in case anyone's wondering about why I mentioned my tattoo here...)