Today, we have surgery
I sink my chest into yours.
Your blood pumping through my veins for a bit,
I feel heavy.

I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
weightless electricity,
Spirit in the power lines, like that spark we felt.
Tealight in a gas stove, left on for 6 months

When I am cremated
My ashes will be Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Filed away in the back seat of my mothers car,
Until she parks in a bad part of town
You break in
Leave the quarters for the tolls
Leave the GPS cupped to the windshield.
Then snort me, in my mothers backseat.
Thinking you just hit the jack ***.
That's where I will be.
Charcoal cave painting your nasal cavity
coating the inside of your lungs like a cigarette.
Replacing your addiction.

This surgery
The Aorta of copper perfume,
Scalpels summoning blood,
I, scavenged from the wreckage

my heart inside you,
the rest scrapped in a kiln.

If they botch the surgery
cold Iron will be the last thing you smell.

I, a spark
grounding from your chest.

Heart still beating.