I press the scalpel against the flesh
Of my right breast with 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 together over your shoulder.
A freshly polished teak one, the same size and shape
Gleams like a tiger’s eye inside my red velvet chest.
No one can break this hardwood heart.
But you’re my termite.