transfusion

my heart is the apex of arteries,
and the nadir of the veins,
the prologue and epilogue of blood.
So, forgive me two chapters
of beating and seven of despair.
forgive the length of blues beneath
my skin and the awful breadth
of my pulse. the climax of my tale
is wine and bread. perhaps,
you'll understand me. my breath,
my head - the honest path
of the capillaries that fill me up.
or you won't, and then
let that bald raw taste of reddest
rage be the medium rare response
of when next we meet.
If you can not understand
my footstep tenderizing
your ribs until you scream
a tiny pride of some lion-loud
roared agony, then i will help
you figure it out. word after
word. love, you beast, that
is the reason for every pool
of blood.