The title points to a tattooed body, though the poem never says so outright. It opens with a strange image: "summer's silk suit" talking to the speaker's "fur." Summer seems to be dressing the speaker, perhaps in warm light, heat, or bare skin, and that outer layer is somehow in conversation with the animal body underneath. Silk and fur sit side by side, one smooth and made, the other raw and instinctive.
The second stanza turns to a question: "am I tapestry / the pictures I itch to be." The speaker wonders whether they are a woven surface, a thing made of images. The word "itch" is the key. Wanting to become a picture is physical, a restless, skin-level urge, much as ink or a new design might feel.
The mood is playful but a little uneasy. There is curiosity about identity here, and a sense that the self is partly something we wear, decorate, and keep rewriting.