constrained and
deranged
he caught me in
a flame
of golden, righteous
perception

he paid me
twenty bucks
& I read his palms
like a sad, sad
story
while I sipped on
my wine

I could see his mouth
ever so clearly
with its own longing
to read my own
future
in the contours of my
wrists

so I told him he was
going to die
alone
& he still returned
the next week

when I told him he'd be hit
by a truck
he only laughed
& left me blue roses

the week after that
I had a cold
& refused to read
so he bought me a
bottle
& read the back of my
neck
& I was tired enough
to let him

he was prettier
than a summer storm

a FedEx truck ran over him
the next day

I held his roses until
my hands bled
& no one could ever
read me again