thine heart was made of beautiful
crystals, perchance
diamonds. Or was it just
an illusion of a
delusional heart? I can't
be certainly certain.
Why would I be,
in the first place. I dozed off
in thine heart, feeling the coldness
and complexity of beauty.
Your heart, there, I felt at home.
But, I am not,
even though I try to be, but not.
Why? I still don't get
the reason we left.
My heart is not here, nor is
in yours.
It fled, to a distant land,
of quiet tremors and solitude and forgiving.
Thine heart is what is left of myself.
I let my heart vanish,
furnished my ribs with a plastic
blood pump. Fueled with
a spark of yours.
My heart is no longer here.
Nor is it yours, nor is it mine.
It's solely
thine heart.
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