the liver. Why not love you
with my whole pancreas?
My thalamus adores you.
My cochlea lies awake all night
filled with you as if by an inner sea.
My kneecaps ache, in dreams
pursuing you with the runner's pure desire.
My heart?
She has gone to dwell
within herself, abbey, abbess
dedicated to her four chambers.
She kneels to pray for purer thoughts
than love of you.
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