I go from one to another
with quiet hands and screaming eyes
holding my carefully folded heart.
I push it towards you,
into half-closed fists,
and snatch it away again,
trying to press it into shape.
In the foggy sun, I spread it out
like a silk handkerchief,
admiring its spots and ragged corners,
seeking my face in the deep red.
I fold it again, into its usual creases
into its usual place
in my pocket.
I will meet you again
with your glazed smile
still damp from paint
and your hands red and blistered
where my heart rubbed off.
Even in the dark I will know your eyes
and your voice that follows and mocks me still
and you will bear witness as i walk away
that my heart, so stubborn, would not tear.