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.