Palmistry
Go to the window, open
the window, outside
the window
there I am with you
lying down, in the dead grass,
reading you a sentence as long
as my life line. You kiss my
forehead, I kiss
your simian crease.
Go back to the kitchen. Go back
to the magnets. Touch the wood handles.
Touch the spoons
left in the sink, a sliced lime,
a juiced lime. I won’t wash
anything that isn’t mine.
The nightjar eats what it eats.
The wide wave finally arrives.
The wet moon leaves me so lonely.
You can’t tell me what I want or don’t.
