The tattooist’s lines
Soften
Turn to blue
Faiths have
An anchor
And forget me knot
Marks time
Within a beachfront kiosk
Mattress in rear
Note on shutters
Saying
Back in 15 minutes
Older than her waist size
Younger than the priced
Sunday Sport tabloid
Talking of *******
And WW2 bomber on the moon
That she’d folded
As though sleeves rolled up
Her name imprinted
Each stick of rock
On the seafront
When anyone talked of Faith
Pink words
Always turned blue