this heart is more of a feeling than a beat
a rhyme with no rhythm
a rhythm with no sound
a rhythm, a rhyme,
the rind of the lemons
from the tree out back,
rotten, brown, stagnant
on the countertop gathering dust
there's a dragon somewhere in there
a small thing, pygmy, pointed,
poignant and precise,
restless, fluttering, thundering
but only ever at your touch
you saw this pygmy, this meek little thing,
you saw her and smiled and
picked her up in one hand
and stole her away, safe to your breast,
warming her with your flames and
vast thunder, ash falling rain,
passion in your breath.
she fits to your chest like hands,
like lips, like words in flow and ebb;
seamless. there are no loose threads.
we have a heartbeat for each other.