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Bursting Hearts

Heard a few bars of a lovely song called Bursting Hearts on the radio and it was over. The tune stayed in my head for a little while and then it had faded too. Something close to the heart had burst and faded just like that song - and I wrote this.

"I don't inspire poetry like others did"
you say to me.
True.
True also that you skewer
my heart like no other man did.
Except I don't tell .
I tell you of pain one day.
You ask "Where ?"
How do I begin describe a pain
that begins where the heart must
approximately be and claws me
with its its shivering vines.
"No just forget it." I say
"Why ?" you ask.
Because you
don't get inexactitude.


You give me a comma separated list
of your unfulfilled wants from me,
terminate them with etcetera.
I hyphenate them to one over-arching
want - that of wanting my body
for you to possess and own.
I tell you the time for that
is yet to come.
I need to dip inside the skin of you,
know where it hurts and how much,
if the wounds are still raw,
tender to touch. Have you bare
your soul to me and tell me
"This is all yours for the keeping"
I tell you "Wait till then to want"

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