Fine line black tattoo of a wildflower sprig with a daisy-like bloom, lavender and a script word Wild, on the inner forearm.

Wildflower sprig with script word on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black linework tattoo of a slender stem with a daisy-style bloom, a small bud, a lavender-like spike and several leaves. Below the sprig, the word Wild is written in a thin, looping script. The lines are single-weight with no shading, and the photo is taken straight on against pale skin with a dark fabric background.

Fine line Botanical Forearm Wildflower Daisy Lavender Stem Leaves Script Flower

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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

Mrs Pell at the cloakroom hatch holds your sprig up to the bulb as though it might be contraband. Lavender spike, one daisy with too many points, a bud that hasn't made up its mind. 'It'll shed on my floor,' she says. You tell her it came off the verge by the Skegness road and that nobody planted it, so nobody can own it. She sighs, says the Palais has rules about things that grow without permission, and lets you pin it behind your ear anyway. That is how you come to be spinning across the sprung boards with a flower bobbing above you when Eddie Carr cuts in from the gents' side of the room.

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'You're always tearing about,' he says, steering you round a couple who have stopped to argue about a step. 'Always looking like you've come in from a hedge.' 'The wild ones come back every summer without anybody asking them to,' you say. 'Tidy things need watering.' He laughs properly, the way nobody at the mill laughs, and the band swings into something slow. A petal comes loose and catches on the rough wool of his lapel, and neither of you mentions it. He holds you a fraction closer than the rules allow, and you let him.

At half eleven the lights come up grey and ordinary. Mrs Pell is on her knees with a dustpan, and you find the daisy by the piano leg, two petals short. You press it flat inside your ticket stub, borrow the stub pencil from the bar, and write beneath it the one word your mother would never let you say aloud. Wild. Then you leave the lavender on the hatch for Mrs Pell to find and walk out into the dark without your coat.