Lines

So delicate, so intricate, A pattern traced on leg and arm. Perhaps a dancer in a show To add mystique, intrigue, and charm. All curved about the calf and quad, Accenting creases well-defined. Muscles bulging, stretching skin, Toned and tuned to the design. Add fifty years, a hundred pounds; now there’s not much room to brag. Lines are stretched, no longer straight, loose skin in folds with lots of sag. Faded, dispossessed of glory, Lost among the liver spots, Gazing at reflected image, Would you still do those tats you got?