The stretched marks

The stretched marks
On my hips
Are perfectly incomplete
But yet to complete
How humane?
The patterns of mundane
I love the way that look
The mandalas, tattooed in my book
They've rooted up to my thighs
Shall be grown after another
twenty years with sighs
Like the "pale face"
Traps in my house, the maze
The stretched marks
They're just remarks