Tattooed

I want to tattoo memories onto my skin.

I wish there was a way to record every moment;
ink it into my subconscious so deep it will never fade,
never soften with age and time,
never become lost or hard to find.

If there were a way, every place I have ever been
would find a home on my skin so that I might look at it
every day. Renew the memories until they aren't just
moments I remember, but moments that I live again and again.

My body would be a map. A legend to find one's way
around the hard times and the beautiful days. A piece
of roaming landmarks and time. A way to keep track of 
where my soul has left pieces; where I have wandered.

My body would be a story. One that did not need unraveling,
unveiling, uncovering. My skin turned into pages, ripe
for discovery and learning. A testament to my life, to my
paradises, my purgatories, my halls of hell.

The ink would never dissolve, the dreams and desires never
fade. I would sew my heart together with lines from poetry,
tattoo the face of the moon into my chest and make the edges
jagged enough to show the wounds I have felt.

Can you tattoo the scent of the ocean into my nose?
The feeling of the rain cascading through my hair?
Is there a way to imprint the sound of thunder in my veins,
stain the lightning across my chest?

Is there a way to carry my memories on my body?
Give them a physical weight, make them vibrant against the
canvas of my flesh? A way to trail the tears down my landscape
so that they puddle into nothingness about my feet?

If there is a way, tattoo your song into my wrists.

The Goddess of Storms

The ocean rose, like a salty tongue, to lick the shoreline. The sky was bleached alabaster white, marbled with gray clouds that threatened more than rain. The voice of thunder rumbled as though it came from below one's feet. The beach seemed to be turned to miles of salt, white against the white of the sky against the blanched waves.
It was a perfect day for a battle.

The Mer-king reared up from the depths, seaweed woven into his crown, his scepter glowing a hot red. He roared in challenge and shook his fist at the bleached sky.

As if in response, the clouds darkened and opened to reveal a staircase of swirling gold. Stepping down from the sky, the Goddess, radiant in all her prismatic splendor, looked about, as if to ask who might dare to disturb her stormy preparations.

Spying the Mer-king, flanked on either side by a battalion of mer-men, she laughed. The sound was like the tinkling of rain against window panes, like sunlight jumping off of water. Unamused, the Mer-king raised a haughty salute and heaved a jagged breath. It was all a game. Petty disruptions in prelude to the ultimate conquest; her heart.

Every autumn, before the winter winds twined their icy fingers about his throat, he and the Goddess danced about one another. They raged at one another, fiercer combatants never before seen. The storms they created ravaged continents, broke open the earth, drowned the cities.

And, in the calm after they had battled to the brink of death, he would woo her. Pleading prettily that she join him below the lightning shattered waves. She would laugh, that beautiful musical laugh, and she would kiss him before she would disappear in the rain drenched sky.

This time he was determined. Determined that the destiny he was promised by the Sea Witch would be his. That he would be crowned the God of Sea and Sky, consort to the Goddess of Storms.

This time, when he took her in his embrace, she would find herself within the sea's embrace as well. She would preside over sparkling pearl palaces, gardens of brightly coloured plants glowing in the depths and his heart.