Sunday, February 12, 2012

Take My Heart

When I die, promise you'll retrieve my heart before it deliquesces in my body. You have ten minutes. Shatter my ribs and reach into my chest. There you shall find my heart, silent and rigid, but do not be fooled. It may lie limp and dead, but it will bite your fingers off at first chance. Do not fret.

Sing it a ballad. You may stroke it gently once it grows docile. It will purr and squirm under your touch. Now (and you must be quick and firm), seize it tight and wrench it out from its nest of veins and capillaries. Do not worry if it gasps and moans. Stretch it as thin as you can but take care not to tear it. When it is flat, dry it in the sun and tie it around your wrist.

Then and only then, will I be with you. Always.

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