Black fine line tattoo of two profiles nearly touching in a kiss, on a person's torso, in a minimal line style.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Fine line profile kiss tattoo on skin

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A single-line tattoo shows two human profiles facing each other, with their lips almost meeting in a kiss. The linework is thin, black and mostly unshaded, with the lines tapering at their ends. The design sits on smooth, light brown skin and is centred in the frame against a plain background.

Fine line Other Kiss Profile Couple Face Line art

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, sit, the fire's still good for another hour. You'll want to hear this one properly, because my grandmother told it to me on the same stool, and she swore it was true right up to the bit about the gull.

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On Inchcaddy, where the ferry comes twice a week if the wind allows, there was a net-mender called Morag Lennie who never once lifted her needle from the twine when she talked. Folk said you could read her mood by the knots. Donal Sim, who carried the post across in an open boat, came every Tuesday with a letter nobody had written and sat on her wall until the tide turned him back.

They were both slow to say a thing plainly, so they spoke in lines. He drew her profile on the back of a fish receipt in one stroke: brow, nose, the curl of her chin. She told him it was a poor likeness, and he said it was the only way he could hold still long enough to get it down. She drew him back the same way, never once taking the pencil off the paper, so that the whole of him ran into the whole of her like a wake closing behind a skiff.

Come winter the sea took the wall and half the nets. Donal went south on the last boat with his drawings folded in his coat. Morag kept the receipt pinned above her bench. In spring a parcel arrived with no name on it, and inside was one thin black line on card: two faces almost touching, the lips a hair apart, the line tapering away to nothing where the paper ends. She never mended a net again without looking at it, and that, my grandmother swore, is why the nets on Inchcaddy never tear.