I walk around with my heart
suspended outside of my body
like the deep sea anglerfish and its light.
It hovers in front of my chest
waiting to be noticed by another,
expecting to go unseen by all.

I stare at the 7-11 clerk
under the fluorescent glow,
the harsh brightness exposes the ugliness around us and yet his face is beautiful.
I want to ask if he can see
the muscle floating mid-air in front of me,
does he see how dull its beat has become,
and Has his heart ever left his body?
If so, how did he put it back into place?
He does not look at me.
I leave with my heart trailing behind
reluctantly,
a stray wanting to be fed
and then left alone.

Later that night I lie in bed and sob ritualistically
until my eyes are swollen orbs,
until I breathe in shallow
gasping crying breaths.
I lift my arms and grasp
at the darkness of the room,
as though I am reaching to retrieve
my runaway heart,
But of what use could it be,
once it's back in my chest?
I've a mind full of anger and
God abandoned my heart
long before it abandoned my body.