In a palace without windows
I was curled up
Facing the wall
Too hurt to speak.
He perched on the edge of the cot
Like a bird,
Ready to fly
At a moment's notice.
"May I..."
He started.
"May I read your palm?"
My heart smiled just a little
At the thought of our
Favorite childhood game.
Without my answering,
He took my right hand
In his.
Using his warm, strong hands,
He splayed out my long fingers
And traced the lines on my palm.
"That's strange,"
He said.
"What is it?" I asked.
"You have a lonely line."
And before I could ask
What he meant,
He showed me where it was.
He gently drew a line
From the base of my thumb,
Up my arm,
Across my collarbone
And let his finger linger just above
My heart.
"It must have grown a little
Every day you were gone,"
I whispered.
"Do you have one, too?"
His golden eyes smiled.
"As a matter of fact, I don't."
"What?"
I was disappointed.
"I don't have one,"
He said as he moved one hand
To the small of my back
And the other to my chin.
"Because it went away
As soon as I heard you sing
Tonight."
And he gave me his first kiss
And stole my heart
In that palace without windows.