It doesn't have a tip to spin on

it's neither red nor sweet

it doesn't melt, or turn over, break or harden

so it can't feel pain, yearning, regret

it isn't even shapely just a thick clutch of muscle, lopsided, mute.

Still, I feel it inside its cage sounding a dull tattoo:

I want,
I WANT

but I can't open it:

there's no key.

I can't wear it on my sleeve

or tell you from the bottom of it how I feel.

HERE, ITS ALL YOURS NOW

but you'll have to take me, too.