Of my right breast in your left hand.
And drag down.
It hurts, sure.
But so does love.
The sternum is easier to crack
Than last time.
We tug out the festering fist-sized fighter.
It beats feebly against the cage bars of our fingers.
O-once. Twi-ice. Thri–
We toss it over your shoulder.
Freshly polished teak, same size, same shape
Gleams like tiger’s eye inside my red velvet chest.
No one can break this hardwood heart.
But you’re my termite.
© Crystal Charee — Original Work
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