Pull through the suture, scissors snip the stitch and out slides the thread, the knot unravels--the heart is dead; septic sewage of Cupid beguiled Love with the killer bow;
Arrow piercing heart: artifice burst, gushing Babygirl red, velvet spool cascading from chest cavity filled with rotten fruit labored--breath and sigh of a molding mind;
Pull through the suture, douse the wound in alcohol again, Saturday at 2am pour the wine, Babygirl: antiseptic stomach strategy of a liver-processed tragedy, of a comedy unforseen detoxifying romcom dream;
Blow the kiss, Babygirl bat a lash--hit a home run, kick up the sand and don't look back; slide through visionless touch of time touch of a man who isn't him, swirling at the bottom of a glass stained with 2am;
Cupid unfaithful questioning Love: is he to blame? Was he the start?
Snip the stitch, Love, the suture drips blood of poisoned organ--oxygen exposed the flesh; the flies will come, it will be a feast of the body undone;