carving his name into your chest
is not so much an act of violence,
but a hey, look here! I’ve got ribs
and inside those ribs lies a heart
that’s devoted to you. this is a cry
from your blood to work its way out.
to run red. to be formed into letters
that spell out his name.
afterwards, a stillness.
a paralysis where the mind
wanders fasters than your legs
could ever hope to move. run
towards the light, towards his
figure, floating just above
the earth, just out of my sight.