The patterned isles paint
Our palms with rayless change

Engrave my shadow with your flickering silhouette
And I will be sheltered

The future’s in your palms
At least that’s what they tell me
But the devil’s in your youth
And my evil seems imminent

But I like to think
That there are caverns amongst our digits
This way the future doesn’t match
The bruises on your paws

I wish to sip your being
With a side of amber
Return the thirty pieces
For a slice of mine

Uniform insanity
Or sanity as they call it
Is much less appealing
In the light of this courtyard

And the amber isn’t working
Your reflection an impossibility
Your existence is paradox
Yet there is nothing I want more.