Mine Heart
Mine heart isn't made of glass;
It isn't made of steel.
For it's made of beating flesh—
Warm, sentient, and real.
It's its own planet within
other worlds—
Still, held on by their veins.
From nightfall's pitch, its
desire, torn—
It lets go of its refrain.
Where it knows
there's an acheless dawn—
For tendons that beseech
(stay chivalrous)
It will haunt like
a lone wolf's song—
You will know us.
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