The last time I saw you,
Grayskinned and haloed,
You twiddled your thumbs,
Bored to death.
You crept from room to room
And up the stairs to the attic,
Searching without wanting
To find,
Like perhaps in a box all dusty
And covered in mold,
You’d find the heart you
Cut out at 19
And gave to me.
I left it on your doorstep
One night
When the moon was asking
Too many questions.