UndefeatedAsOfYet

I gave my hands to a palm reader, and she saw through winged glasses, through the etching of lines like hairs like dancing spider's footsteps on my palms what caused the feathering in the crossroads of my heart line, and the ever present hangnails parasitic on my skin. She saw them soften in sinks, soap and hot water, the persistent blue smudge beneath the third finger's joint, the freckles painting me: Irish Spanish Gypsy and yet somehow still English rose, the lone marriage line telling how I'll only love once (and myself thinking once quite optimistic, with my innate selfishness) and all the while seeing the way that, sometimes, my hand