He came upon her from behind.
What have you there?
My heart, she said.
He touched her shoulders, close and kind,
Face near her hair,
Warm breath, bent head.
I love you. May I have your heart?
She turned her head
And smiled up.
You've had it from the very start,
You know, she said,
Hands like a cup.
But it's in pieces. What is this?
And some are torn,
And some are bruised.
And here touched by a stolen kiss,
Why is it used?
And she could only hold it up,
And look at him as though he knew,
Heart throbbing in her fingers' cup,
The beating fragments shining through.
My friends. I've nothing to confess.
I loved them so.
And that's just me.
It doesn't make me love you less.
Though he'd never see.