Heart to heart
It doesn't have a
t
i
p
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, it's all yours now
but you'll have to take me, too.