high alert

By
I will read in your palm
the future. It's enough
to put your hand
on the side of my heart,
to hear my life's pulse,
articulating your whispers,
syllabified tenderly with
my fingertips on your lips.

Confused? You expected
me to profess chiromancy?
You forgot? I told you, —
(remember I'm poetry) in
today's music's intestines,
using niche, — (high alert),
camouflaged in your sigh, —
(honey-babe, don't be late).

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