She told me once her heart belonged to me,
and I ever the devoted servant
preserved such trust within
the grasp of my embrace.
She told me many times her love was mine to keep,
and I ever the naive imbecile
took her words as gospel
between the phrases of my prayers.
And know there is no single question
but her words from the past
as she reassures me with a devious smile
the proprietary rights of land to her
pulsing heart.
A surging wave of loathing courses through
the cadence in the back of my mind
when finally I can see within to reason.
A ticking begins to echo.
A heart is a strange thing, I think,
as I cradle the pulsing vessel.
It twitches, trembles and pumps
for the last time in the nest of my palms
and silently the heart that use to beat for me
throbs nevermore.
She was leaving me for another and I
with the prerogative of her permission,
simply took what was mine.
Hands stained with the fading passion of your love,
it shall thud nevermore.