His heart was offered up
In between the swirls and twists of her drink.
It was full of safety pins and puke and blood,
But it still shone,
Like a star, like he had plucked a bloody, but still shining star
From the night sky, just for her.
He held it out to her,
Holding it in both palms.
The blood trickling between the cuts of his hands,
His hands been ploughed with his blood.
He didn't offer it like a Christ,as present,
But like a cat offereing a dead bird on the front porch.
His heart thumped, Bopping up and down, dancing on his palms
A slow dance all by itself,
A slow jolt of energy, veins moving as if they were talking,
The heat was performing its grand dance on his shaking palms.
His mouth was open, a black hole of silence,
His breath was sucked in four times to speak,
But each time he let it go, like the blue tide receding
On a new morning beach.
Tongue was half spoken,
Twirling around in his salvia,
A jumping pink dolphin, swimming free in the black sea,
Until he pulled the fish back in,
Replacing it with an ugly snail as it retreated back into its black shell.
She stared at his offering,
At the blood dripping on the floor, just like spilled ketchup,
She mistook him as a stranger by the door, with his chest ripped open,
She mustook the silky spider touch of love, that would strangle her in adoration,
That would go to war for her, that would tangle her in devotion,
As indifference's leather grope,
As more wine enthers her throat.
As more blood covers his palms.
As the heart dances its grand dance.
Created: Feb 23, 2011helloJohn Document Media