Heart

be it blood or ink
that which spills from the poet
always costs his heart

A Handful of Dust

it was but once a handful of dust
which by some invisible design
into my waiting breast was thrust
and thus became this heart of mine
yet can just flesh and blood present
the desires that within it churn
or did ingenious intent
from lifeless clay to passions turn

Lebkuchen

this heart is made of gingerbread
in frosting desires writ
it hangs upon a ribbon red
oh won’t you taste of it?
bite deep into this heart of mine
consume with it my soul
for in its textures you may find
the passions that it holds.

Broken Stones

I built my heart from broken stones
upon the broken lakeside pier
from where we watched the broken moon
reflected in the broken mere
but in the broken world of ours
of one thing I am sure
the heart I had of broken stone
is unbroken next to yours.

5-7-5 (take three-hundred-and-eighteen : heart)

his heart beats no more
it stopped the moment she left
and flesh became stone

5-7-5 (haiku without a number or title)

the heart of the sun
can not match this passionate
heart of mine for you

the tell all heart : a short fiction as prose

she wrapped her heart
in a garbage bag
gold plated and
encrusted with jewels,
crystalised tears
of both joy and pain
from the brief moments
she’d allowed her guard
to fall.

I drew a heart

I drew a heart
outlined in blue
then you painted it red
and where there once
was untapped stone
now passion beats instead

5-7-5 (take twenty-four : beats)

the fearless heart beats
its chambers must echo proud
that for which it yearns

5-7-5 (take twenty-three : deliverance)

votive offering
my heart styled from candle wax
to melt with your kiss