he holds his heart in his hands
blood drips from his fingers
to the table between them

she speaks of various things
of interest to her oblivious
to the slow offering he tenders
he stutters out half replies
to keep her conversation
close to keep her close
she wonders how he could mean
those words so casually written and
if he meant them as he could say them
he wonders if she sees his heart
with its stark bloody expanse
and if she is repulsed by its nature
she holds her hands out like delicate
butterflies fluttering over flowers
afraid that what is offered is not there
both listen close to each other’s voice
desiring more meaning to breathe
than their covert hearts can bare 
(April 2012)

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