Don't you take my heart and put it in some
bloody, smelly wrapper (defiled)
and hand it back to me
shaking
weak on bended knee.
Please.
Don't you know?
It's prestidigitation
and grace,
by the way,
the stiletto won't be seen in the final
red
silhouette.
(last gulp of air)
And so, as waves of pain
ripple
to the edge of a blue lake
I think of you
and your vibrating reflection. Clutch my wrapped up heart
stand on my cold, cold feet
and consider fishing
alone
in July.
-----
