Monday, January 31, 2005


Holding my hand against the light
I see lines few others would spot
A burnt trail (the saucepan was hot)
An old gash from a childish fight

Bite marks from a stifled scream
Nail semicircles on a nervous palm
Razor marks untreated with balm
Prints from a hand-holding dream

Fortune-tellers will never know
What lines decide how fate must go

1 comment:


This is a masterpiece, and multiple readings only augment the enchantment!