The Mite. Poem by Hardik Vaidya

What made you think I forgot the lines on your palm's?
I don't have a photographic memory, and it was always old and worn.
Only once you held them open faced, together, like a lotus in your pond.
You did not notice, I tumbled and fell into those little ravines.
A cutaneous mite, I crawl infinite, line by line,
Trying to find,
Which one leads to your heart.
Now after reading my poem,
Don't go and wash your pretty hands
With Dettol.