I want to put my lips
upon your throat
and take your pulse.
Maybe I can tell
if your blood flows hot and thick as wine
or if it is cold as ice,
and caught upon the
snow drifts and ice flows of your life.
I want to settle your hand in mine
and read your palm like an open book,
pinpoint the line
where your future intersects mine.
These are my fairytales,
how I rock myself to sleep each night.
These are the shadows on the edge of my skull,
playing tricks on my mind.
Lies and illusions look all the same against a night sky.