old idea

these are my hands

like an old woman's

veins run down my wrists

deep ravines across my palm

a landscape full of years

my fortune lies in my fingers

gnarled and grasping

to write and i am cold

fear runs through my scalp

we are more alone than you know

new idea

these are my hands

like an old woman's

veins running into

deep ravines across my palm

a landscape full of years,

a desert waiting for the oasis of you.

my fortune is printed across my fingers

gnarled and grasping

to write this letter

to hold the pen at a slant

so you won’t be able to distinguish my writing.