divination

I wish I had something
that I could call a portent,
that I could swear into your skin
like an omen;

I wish I had a promise
that I could keep no matter
what.

But I cannot read the tarot cards
in your skin
despite their weather-beaten folds,
nor do I understand
the lines on your palms
any better than I do myself.

I'm not a fortune-teller,
our love isn't a carnival game,
and there will always be something about you

that resists any attempt
to define it.

You think you can
bounce from tent to tent
to see the freaks held
in my hall of broken mirrors;

You're wrong.
No crystal ball, no scrying bowl
can close the gap between us.