At night my heart
sleepwalks through.
the spidery grass
dead stems rustling
until it finds the
golden square of light
in the garden
outside your bedroom
as you lay reading .
Sometimes, your own
will come through the trellis
and they sit together
but they don't say anything
because they're just organs
or the clumsy metaphors
for our inability to
forgive one another
stupid fucking hearts.
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