12. His Vampire Heart

My actual first good non-rhyming poem, though generally creepy and a bit monstrous and melancholic...

March 2008- Olga Taratuta

If one were to tear his heart in two
Such as an old lady would do
Squeezing ends on a fresh walnut
Till her bony fingers shook in veins and
Miserable, cackling, carousels
Canaries of multiple hues would shoot through open wounds
A blood-blanketed kaleidoscope bursting in rainbow patches
His deep cinnamon eyes quenching for euphoria
Amidst a righteous haven;
In human standards labeled: His Heart
Butchered in dusk
Buttered at dawn
Sold on the street market for 3.99
Perched to a hanger by the sweet apple stall
She cheats the mad chef and sprints with the meat
So perfectly wrapped in cloth round her hands
Blotches of vampire red
Dripping in strings on the street
She clutches his heart as if it were her own child
Fear of shattering it
More than it’s already crushed
His heart finds its way to her oak-rimmed counter
Beating in the warmth of the fireplace
Orange and red dragons spit out the chimney
She mourns to locate the key to this heart
His body
When all bachelors terminate
She pulls strands of hair out of her head
Rash for his eyes of genuine spice
None of the others are delicate enough to breathe alongside a rainbow heart
It pounds on the counter in dismay
Tormenting her mind to this day
He is dead
And she learns if you love someone to death
You will die too

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