I’m crazy; cause I wonder what your fingers feel like

Your fingertips

The soft parts of your palm

Your lifelines and your creases that are verses and curves

And somehow strangely

I am included in a bit of

The story

And I wonder if I was meant to touch them to hold your hand to have fingertips graze

Become delighted

In the ethereal

Accidental, purposeful, bump

Of an index or a thumb.

I’m romantic!

I’d put flowers into them.

Breath between the 2nd and the third.

Draw music

From the space between the lines they create.

I wonder how they feel when they caress the guitar strings like, she! is a woman !

What does she draw out

As she carefully moves about

Her instrument?

I am crazy; because it makes me feel like a child again

Youthful innocence

I wasn’t innocent long!

But, I return

To the place of surrender

Of tree climbing

Of scaling heights

Of hitting notes

When I think about

How warm your palm is.

And I begin to dream

Of Palm reading!