the blue feather in my palm

for the last few months i've stared into my palm.
the one the gypsy gazed into,
her green eyes wide, when she first saw you,
but in her crystal ball, not one;
but two.

into that same palm she pressed her lucky heather.
she pursed pink lips and promised twins,
with wild black eyes and pendulous limbs,
that swing like mittens, safe on strings,
with a-swooping brows and a-charming grins;
she knew.

well i drank your lies like poison, now i'm blind.
and the world turned blue, colour floods my head,
swallow hands they dragged me from bed to bed,
and the blue world fades, as my cheeks flush red,
now i wish you'd kissed me and run instead,

but you lied as you tied my body
in your blue-eyed best friend's sheets.
and you faked as you caked my fingers
in your more-ish lust, so sweet.

and now i stare into my palm,
that palm the gypsy read.
and I visualise a feather blue,
the shade you turned my head.
and now i've found my feather.
i must picture you instead.

and the universe, she'll bring me back to you.