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Beating Hearts

You lift me up to your ear.

My heart beats, a common novelty,

but to you this is a miracle of gold standard.

Each beat a note far greater

than any music that you had loved before now.

Wonder is painted on your face,

a smile, wide eyes, cheeks warming as tears well.

I pass in and out of awareness in your blanketing hands.

I open my eyes and see bright lights all around,

noises, noises, loud- I cry.

You hold me and put me against your chest.

My ear suctions to your shirt, still warm and wet.

I hear your heart beat, but I cannot understand it.

I cannot understand it. But I know what it means.

Your heart beats.

My heart beats, the strongest force in my body

when I am still and quiet.

It rumbles. I pulse. But your heart beats.

Or that thing beats.  Like my thing beats.

Or, it moves as mine moves.

I don’t understand this.

I don’t understand these things that I love and know.

But I know them and love them the same.

I love your heart, because it beats and mine beats.

And when I lay against your chest,

your heartbeat is bigger than mine.

It is strong. It is wonderful.

My heart is small and puny.

Your heart is pounding and rushing and warming.

The beat is strong, like a drum,

not that I know what a drum is.

But if music is a life,

then the backbeat is the drum.

And your drum is the steady song,

the words beyond meaning

but meaning “love”

and “protection”

and “care”.

I fade.

This day is too much for me.

I sleep in the bed of your palms,

the pillow of your heart,

the blanket of your love.

Posted under: Writing

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