My heart is a honeycomb
Riddled with many small spaces,
Each one a placeholder
For pieces I gifted to you.
I remember each moment of gifting.
The first; your birthday party,
You walked me to the bar and gazed on me with wonder
Before revealing more than you should, frankly and without fear
or expectation.
Later that night,
You slipped your hand illicitly into the warm space just above my knees
And breathed a longing sigh.
I took your hand away and held it in my own,
Closing your fingers around the first piece of my heart.
The first time we kissed, I had hidden another piece under my tongue
And it melted into yours.
When you told me I was beautiful
And proved that you really thought so,
You found a piece in what you gazed upon
And it burned itself onto your retinas, indelible - my hearts branding.
There were many other offerings,
And by the time it all collapsed around us,
My heart was barely able to sustain me,
I had offered almost all I could,
The final offering would have destroyed me.
I suppose I should be glad I never had to make it,
But I am a poor version of myself now;
A heart riddled with holes,
And nothing to show for all that I gave up.
You have so much of my heart, with you
I wonder if you feel it beating?
I wonder, if each little piece,
Now bleeding, and yearning to return,
Shares that yearning with you?
Is your heart bleeding, in sympathy, too?