I'll give you my heart if you promise not to let it spoil, freezerburn or mold while youre away, we'll keep it sage in plastic wrap, the soft edges smoothing against the warmth of your hands molding it into shape. My lump, a slight shade of pink on the counter and shrink-wrapped into perfection.
I will look through your eyes and see the painted door of our house together. The cracks the wind has made. Tiny fingerprints on the glass, and to the leaves swaying in the background of your lashes. The knob has been fixed a thousand times. A hundred times broken, then tightened again. Hands around it, the oils rubbed the perfect pattern, polished it new again. The floors, they creak, the sunlight, it pours, your eyes, they blink the most thoughtful tears.
I care not for the playground nature of your eyes. But I am comfortable with your arms on my swelling stomach, you are mostly silent and when you sleep you twitch your arms, hot bricks beneath us. I am your last year encased in flesh, split ends with human eyes looking out through nothing. Color, grab a hold of me again; take me down into your early mornings and coffee'd brunches with folded fabric napkins and star colored plates. I belong there in the pinks. Wake up sweetly. Pink hands, dry corners. But I thought the morning had come, unhinged in the doorjamb, it is erased and I'll take to the grave just the way it feels now. Let go by your eyes that keep getting lost in beds. Please give me that when you wake up lonely. Let me into your waters, I want not these harden goods.