No Charm, Please Poem by Delilah Miller

See this palm here?
You love me,
it says right here,
in the flesh and bone writing of your hand.

A thousand dancing gypsies
and the angelic rivers
quiver with life.
All in this palm.
All because the lines so readable
and I like the marble veining in your palm.

And me?
This hand appreciates all your smiles.
These legs adore your quick, wide steps.
This waist will melt for only your arms.

Don't say my name and I won't say
your name.
Your palm
is a palace of round red tiles,
smelling of leather,
the soft kind that is so pliable it has no charm.

Charm is honey,
sweet for the mind.
This is a good hand,
a good arm,
nice and wide lap,
unattached to and uncaring for
that brain, full of a thousand point A's and lines.