My Heart Knows Itself

I.
The chill of precision
cuts through my chest.
I don’t let it any further—
my heart knows itself.

I take out the steel,
examine it,
let it clank
to the concrete ground
beneath my feet,
reddening
my every step
expertly.

II.
Blood doesn’t bother me—
it’s the open vein
it came through
that feels dire.

Blood itself
is a jewel
of garnet wisdom—
structurally,
a medium
for love,
for life,
for death.

III.
That holy river
running between you and I,
baring the skin’s flush—
pale and beautiful tells
like no other—
is a wondrous
proof of living.

And that knife
back there?
That was a favor.

It opened me wider—
so I never return to silence again.

Rebirth is violent.

Moonlight Spiritus