Without a Knife

Exactly as your ancestors, the Aztec priests,
Would bear away the hearts of victims
Brought to them, you will board that plane
With mine. They'll fly you south. They won't
Say where, and, in your absence, Esmeralda,
I will stagger, not a man, a breathing corpse,
Who cannot truly live until you've come back
North to take me in your arms and reattach
My beating heart.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 22 times
Written on 2011-07-07 at 15:10

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