Her Tattoo

Elegantly seeded in the furrow of her spine,
even rows of letters
repeat: my dream
is to be powerful and free.

Cherish the audacity.

Hands that hold the whip must
underline that strength.

Lechers face the speechless roar:
existing is resisting.

Maybe her voice is soft
as alchemy, the silence of base metals
admitting they are gold.

Nonetheless. She is

indelible, marked now,
translated by the dream.
Adamant as philosopher’s stone,
matter beyond measure rests beneath her skin.