Red Palms

A Poem by Kiva

Once it started opening up,
Like a wound, the pearl sheen of skin deepening into a red,
As rare as the perfect rose,
And just as treasured.

Bones dense around my fat heart,
And lock themselves in place,
Stifling the voice, two beats -
The third one silent.

The fourth,
The fifth,
The third.

You are my arms outreached but selfish,
Hands open but stiff,
Palms red.