Would you let me
Place my tender hands
On your warm chest
So I could cut you open
With a blunt scalpel
And let my fingers flow
Against your insides
That slippery sensation
Of panicking blood
Against this living flesh
Crushing the oxygen
Tracing lines around your
Lungs like star signs
Of a sky trapped behind
An ivory cage—spare
Me a rib or a vein or two
As my hands shall be
Exploring you way further
Find organs to suture
Or prod you into laughter
Are you ticklish here?
On your stomach, in your
Punctured diaphragm
No need to ask if you have
Got the guts, but don’t
Be heartless, I’ll miss your
Larynx for that chuckle
All before I stain your neck
With the red of your
Slowing aorta, and set you
Free with a final gasp
And just one gentle little snap.