There is a man in Blackpool, known as the Leopard Man, who has had 95% of his body tattooed in leopard markings. I can't begin to imagine why he would go to the expense nor suffer the pain. I don't know which 5% of his body surface was deemed untattooable - but I do know that he plans to sell his skin on e-Bay to provide an inheritance for his children. Who would want to buy a human skin with a sitting tenant? Maybe an aging SS officer or a taxidermist? Weird shit.
Today's poem is a bit of silliness...okay, a lot of silliness. Enjoy.
Forty Things To Do With Skins
Buff and fluff them,
balm and salve them,
coat them with expensive serum,
exfoliate and even slough them;
slip up on them
(when discarded carelessly).
Caress with lips or fingertips,
tease and pimp them,
perforate with pins and prinkings,
decorate with studs and inkings,
flog with whips - consensual only,
jump out of them (when you're scared).
Stretch and shrink them,
scratch them, patch them,
colour-match them,
tan them, fan them,
crave and save them,
moisturise them to stop wrinkling;
rub with olive oil and salt.
Poke them, stroke them,
spray them, flay them,
love their dimples, squeeze their pimples,
lick them, prick them,
tickle them and pickle them;
load them with sour cream and bacon.
Thanks for reading. Take care of your epidermis and have a good week. S :-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
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