A Collector of Hearts
My
heart lies on your shelf
Congealed in its
emotions
Swimming in that
psuedo-formaldahyde
We call
love
I wonder if you ever
Take it out and look at it;
Hold it in your
hands?
Think about
What a beautiful
speciman it is...?
You poor, blind
Kerouac-toting
Predator--
It was yours
From the
moment
I laid eyes on
you