Your story by the stars.

No matter how

open your pages,

exposed on life were, 

no one could write

your biography,

it was too autobiographical

in nature's beauty spread;

a tarot's reading displayed

on cards going by the stars,

who could predict your journey

on palms not read,

on lines running parallel

never crossing paths.

I looked into your

crystal ball, and I

saw your centerfold.

Don't move I'm still sketching!