i'm your kinda girl
until I'm not.
really, a girl with something hard, a mollusc in her chest, dripping with salt, a mouth full of teeth, and also deep, searing fear, a fear that you won't love me like before
you think you know this
but you don't.
your hand comes reaching out
a map of a palm with calluses like deep set rivers
and I make trenches in your fingers
setting up base and building a well
planting flowers in your nail beds
which die every season
thumb looming like a mountain
skin beaten into shape
and a rise and fall of a hand
like a weathered ancient valley
I sleep in the palm of your hand
and these are the hills that I die on