deb this is not my heart
all strong and awkward
beating at the ribs
within me-
perhaps i was distracted
when you lifted this
once-empty cage
to make a careful home
for what you gave to me-
you hesitated for but a moment
when you made the choice;
you still hold mine in awe,
unable to believe i would give
my heart to you so easily;
you stare and cup its
purpled beating,
careful not to let it slip
through your thick fingers,
unsure of how to
swe it up with in you.
when you're ready
to let it thrive;
when everything sinks in,
i'll help you make a home
for this piece of me;
fragile, patch-ridden, still-hurting-
-aching for you to mend itself-

what's it to you?
who go