Sunday, March 11, 2007

A Maze of You

I run along the little lines on your palm
(You always had such big hands)
I stumble on the preserved memory of a callus
(You always had such expressive skin)

On your wrist, I sway
to the bass thrum of your pulse,
an echo
of the hale vibrations
within the chambers of your heart.

I weave through the criss-cross hairs
on your arm,
the faint outline of your soul.

Time stretches
into the
dark pools of your eyes
So that I find myself lost

in a maze of you.

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