Limpid Heart

It sits in the palm of your hand
a calm, translucent, pulsing thing,
clear enough for you to finally see
what stirs within each chamber.
It knows exactly what you intend to ask
and reveals all questions with a simple rhythm,
and still,
and still,
you can’t help but loop the veins and
arteries around your fingertips,
plucking them one by one,
spilling perfectly logical fluids all over the cement.

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