Please refrain from metaphors
Made of heart-shaped paper,
And I will know your love was real.
Describe it glistening with viscera,
Authentic emotion is far removed
From that bloody muscle laced with blue veins…
It’s down beneath the pasty brown stink
Of the liver, in the vicinity of the appendix,
That love throbs and twists–where it thrives
That muscle to the north
Keeps pumping on, uninterrupted,
Unaffected, as love gets ripped from the gut.