From A Journal
I look at the lines on the palm of your hand,
I see some white with pink intertwined,
You seem to have time …
I squeeze my own hand tight,
As if red on my palm had just died.
Your hand is curled up tight,
As if your dreams had just died.
I look at the lines on my own hand,
I see some grey with blue intertwined,
I still have time …