Chiromancy by Tawni Vee Waters

Always,
I sleep
in your palm,
nestled in
the valley of your

lifeline.

Awake,

I creep
to the tips of
your fingers,
tasting the prints,
spiraling through
them into

eternity.

In springtime,

I climb
the summits
of your knuckles,
poise precariously
on their rocky crests
knowing that
to fall from
them is to
fall from

grace.

Your hand is my map to God.

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