My hands are patterned by ambitions,
these lines on my skin are wishes,
palms marked like the sky after a shooting star
and shining when they interlace with your fingers,
your skin's wrinkles and crinkles.
The crevices of our skin do not match or meet
the way coloured paths on a map synchronise and intercross,
We are separate pieces of meat
my fingernails are solar systems,
if you could only venture!
But you cannot touch the planets dotted through my universe,
it seems you have no rocket fuel.
I'd let you pierce flags into my flesh if you deemed me your world,
or hoard bookmarks between my chest if I was your global index, your encyclopaedia,
because my fingernails are solar systems!
My face is the map,
it is our time to star gaze,
let your trembles be your compass...
So, please follow me,
take my hand
don't be afraid of the dark,
don't you see?
My fingernails are solar systems!