I wear my heart between my legs.
It’s purple in a thousand ways.
A fruitfulness that boileth over,
In fields of green and four-leaf clover.
It’s plucked and plucked and plucked again,
And tossed about into the wind
Unraveled like a worthless shroud,
by skillful hands adept and proud.
My pieces lost in places far,
And so a wanderer, I start -
I journey here, I journey there,
search high and low, and in the air.
I sail on the River Chthonic -
Shadows creep round Monsters Conic,
The Bough I carry clears the way.
Hark! I hear them! – my fear’s allayed.
Their beatings cry with sapience,
In unison, “Come get us hence! ”
And in a basket made of stone,
I carry all my pieces home.
I scoop them up unto my breast,
Repaired again, in bed we rest.
I wear my heart between my legs.
It’s purple…in a thousand ways.
©2005
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Write comment. I wear my heart, what a great start. Read my poem, Love and Iust. Thanks