There’s a cobalt pulse shivering beneath my skin.
A Y of rivers and rivulets.
A reservoir of worlds behind my eyes
and the paths on my palms await pursuit.
The lilac shells of my cut short nails cling
to my fingertips like limpets on the shore
and a row of pearls reveal either the sincerity
or the sham in each smile.
It turns out that I, too, just like the rest,