THERE IS NO SHADE IN THE SHADOW OF A BLEEDING HEART

even if the blood is wine-dark

and sticky sweet,

even if flows down your back

and soothes the scars,

even if you smile to run your tongue

over your too-sharp teeth,

even if the prospect of the bite

is saccharine and glowing,

even if it tastes like the song

you loved back when heaven

was another girl’s room,

even if there is no heaven there now,

for the room is gutted and sour,

and you haven’t been back

for years, anyway,

and the girl has learned

to contort herself

into a language you don’t speak,

and she doesn’t know

what - how - to call you anymore,

and even if she did,

you’d probably wait out the echos,

purgatoried in the love

and fear of years past,

no, you probably wouldn’t answer,

for you love your bleeding heart,

and all its lovely beating wounds.