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,
tracing
the faint outline of your soul.

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

Lost
in a maze of you.