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.