[Second Draft]

​

Eat the heart! 
Even only half of it,
In a tavern or 
A bar,
Alongside
A side-salad—
Perhaps—
With sour
Lemon dressing.
The main course?
It is the heart—
Of course.
Look at your hands
Standing over a line 
Of judgment 
Called a shared passion 
Among the ones 
Who have attempted to
Suicide your fate—
A fate that could only belong 
To the planet of Mars—
Full of fury, 
Full of wars and signs 
Signifying nothing.
The center cannot hold,
The poet once told.
What about the heart?
Can it hold—
You 
Or onto you, 
And your mouth
Watered at the 
Sight pleasurable
Be it?
Do not answer this
Right away!
Look at your 
Poor heart old
First and tell me 
Some time—
Maybe thousands of 
Years later—
If it ever belonged 
To you.
Or was it actually 
A hand,
Shaped round
And left to you 
By an unnamed 
Mysticity of spells?