I'll ask you to hold my hand
and then slip my beating heart
into your palm
instead

You won't notice
until the blood starts to run
onto your favorite shirt

Your mother never taught you
how to remove stains
the color of rust
and so you'll abandon both of us
no matter how much it hurts

I'll hand you a bottle of club soda
and a handle of *****
in hopes that the bubbles
lift up your spirits
and the alcohol
tints your blue eyes
with a color
one might call rose

I will fix the problem
I carelessly created
and you will apologize
for being so afraid
when my pulse is the one
that sounds
like a hummingbird

I won't ask you to hold my hand
but you'll squeeze my arm
and kiss my cheek
to patch up the pain
as I sew my heart
back into my chest