“Your Pulsing Aorta.”

You were as discreet as I was sweet

A thimbleful of self-doubt

In a backdrop of half confessions

None of which resonated with you.

You didn’t absorb the way I did

Though I would have spent all day by your side and in your mind

Amidst your sheets, so heavenly

My missteps and pratfalls

Elevated by your hourly rebukes

I didn’t wrong you though neither did I impress nor digress

My heart was your pinàta

All the good stuffed inside

You must have burst it over a hundred times

I taped it so poorly

Knowing another shatter was inevitable

I brandished the rod

And readied it in your little palms

Wincing, I closed my eyes

Bracing for the welcome pain because it came, oh, it came so good

I’ve been discarded before

If it doesn’t concern you I should remove myself

Your dirty work is done

The blood is on my hands

My tent pitched in no mans land

Away from you but closer too

Face to face with your pulsing aorta

The ventricles amuse me

In your blood I want to stay

To take up residency and build my own community within

Nothing can stop your beauty from bombarding me

Like a plate of peeled potatoes

Welt inflicting if I don’t receive it right

I must take ease in everything you

For it all screams your name.

Hurled at me each step, every day

I am neither inside you nor am I dead and it all feels glorious

Waves, they waft and billow so

You’re locked inside. I won’t let go.

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